


Papyrus Dates a Bird: A Tale of Sorrow, Happiness, and a Little Thing Called Love

by WatteauYouDoing



Series: Gifts of the Magi [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Reader Is Not Frisk, Wizard AU, alternate title is "Papyrus Brightens Up Everyone's Lives", and he remains a sunshine baby throughout the entirety of this fic, and knows a lot about people while not really able to fully connect with them, body image issues, don't worry though this is going to be fluffy and positive overall, humans have magic but it's more like miracles then monsters everyday uses of magic, now with pictures as of chapter 5!, pap is a sunshine baby, reader hates shoes, reader lives in a park and talks to birds, themes of isolation and depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-05-15 07:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 71,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5776993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatteauYouDoing/pseuds/WatteauYouDoing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They give you offerings and you give them advice - and that was just how things worked. You're the Oracle of the Playground, though you aren't much for prophecies. Really, you just Know things, and what you don't know the birds tell you. Beyond that, you sleep, because the waking world is far, far too tiring for someone like you. You'd be woken if you were needed.</p><p>A change wasn't something you'd been accounting for, but that frighteningly cheerful skeleton isn't really the sort of person you can plan around, is he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Begins, Not With a Bang, But with a Considerable Amount of Shouting

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the same universe as my other fic, So I Think You've Got the Wrong Number, but it's got a much lighter, fluffier plot and it's wayyyyy less heavy on the weird human-magic BS. Reading the other fic isn't necessary to understand this one. Enjoy the copious Papyrus!

The birds tittered themselves into a fervent chorus, rousing you enough to hear the sound of footsteps careening towards your prone body. You assumed that whoever was sprinting towards you would stop, or, at the very least, have the decency to jump over you, but neither of those things occurred. Instead, with a grunt and fierce cacophony of feathers and chirps, someone tripped right over you, startling the birds and scattering them into a multicolored cloud. You lay there for a long moment, not particularly wanting to get up… But you did your duty anyway, pushing yourself off the wet earth.

For a moment, you stared straight ahead, and then, slowly, you shifted your gaze to the child planted face-first in the grass. The dew had dampened your mask and your arms, swathing the world in a shimmering wet newness, so when the yellow monster picked themselves up, they shone a little in the gentle morning sun. They looked around, blinking blearily, and then noticed you sitting there with a gasp.

“Oh man!! I’m so sorry!” They did a little hop-shift so they were fully facing you, and you noticed that the monster child had no arms. They wore a striped shirt littered with green stains both faded and new, likely from many more collisions with the ground, and they spoke in a quick, exuberant manner that was hard to keep up with. “Woah!! Are you a monster? I’ve never seen you before!”

“No,” you said simply, reaching up to touch the long-beak of your dark mask with a gloved hand. A hood obscured your hair, and a red, low brimmed hat shadowed your eyes. The child seemed impressed, gaping and staring at you with a wonder-struck expression.

“Are you human??” They asked, tilting their head back and forth as they took in your appearance.

“I’m called Crane.”

There was a beat, and then they gasped again, their eyes going big and wide. “Oh!! I tripped over you! I’m sorry!” They flopped forward in an approximation of an apologetic bow. You stared at them, still a bit drowsy and honestly wanting to go back to sleep.

“It’s fine. Did you want advice?” You asked, the same thing you asked of every person who woke you in your park.

“Advice?” They were a highly expressive child, mouth forming into a curious ‘o’ and their eyebrows going way up.

“Yes. People wake me, offer me food, and then ask me to give them advice about their problems.”

“Oh! Are you a _wizard?_ I’ve heard about you! You use magic and help people out! And sometimes you’re kinda scary? Oh!! That’s so cool!”

“I’m a wizard,” you confirmed, only still sitting up through sheer force of will. They weren't getting to the point quite quickly enough for you, but they were young, and you pardoned the youth. “Do you need any advice?”

“A real wizard!” they wiggled in excitement. “Um, oh, I’d love to get some advice from a _real wizard!_ But… I don’t have any food.”

You stared at them for a moment. “It’s okay,” you said. “Just bring me something to eat later.”

“Mom bought a big sack of kit-kats! I’ll get you some of those!” The yellow child wiggled again. “What should I ask you about… oh! I know! I need a present for the _coolest, raddest, most extra-special_ person in the world! Can you help me think of something _awesome?_ ”

“Okay,” you said, and in your plain, toneless voice, you instructed, “Tell me about the coolest, raddest, most extra-special person in the world.”

This brought on a deluge of information that you were only barely prepared for. Apparently, the coolest person in the world was called The Great Papyrus, and he was a super handsome skeleton with sunglasses on his biceps and the best fashion sense in the whole world. He liked spaghetti, because it was the perfect food and the sauce was red, _just like_ his costume. He was the best at cooking spaghetti, because his was glittery, and you could tell things were good when they’re glittery. He’s kind, and smart, and strong, and the nicest person in the world, and he made you feel safe just being around him. He’s happy, optimistic, and knew everything about superheroes, which were the BEST THING EVER because superheroes helped people, and wizards did too, right? Were wizards superheroes? Anyway, he had lots of action figures, because he collected them, and _cool people_ collect action figures, and last winter he made a snow man that looked JUST like him, it was so rad. It even had sunglasses and a hat that said Cool Dude on it.

You stared at the child blandly, taking this all in. Slowly the birds settled down, coming back to perch on your head and your shoulders. You held up a hand for them, and a robin settled right on your finger as the child watched.

“Oh my gooooosh,” they paused in their ramblings, staring at the birds surrounding you. “That’s so cool! Are these all yours?”

You didn’t quite understand the question. “They’re my friends.”

“Can you talk to them?!”

“Yes.”

They gaped, and now that you had room to interject, you did so. “The Great Papyrus would like something you made yourself,” you said with absolute authority, because you Knew. “Do you like making things?”

“I do! Art class is my favorite. I’m really good with my feet,” they said, leaning back on his butt and scrunching his toes for emphasis. “But what should I make?”

“Make him something shaped like himself. A paper doll, a drawing, a figure. Would you enjoy doing something like that?”

“That sounds fun, but… “ The monster child wiggled again. “I don't think I’m good enough to do him justice…”

“If you put your love into it, the Great Papyrus would like anything you make. If you’re excited about it, he’ll adore it - he's that that sort of person, isn't he?”

“Ah! You're right! You're so right! That's what makes Papyrus so cool!” The child flopped to their feet, bouncing in place. “Thank you, Miss Crane! You're pretty cool too!”

With that, they took off, sprinting across the wet grass again. You watched them trip, pick themselves up, and keep going.

Even just seeing it exhausted you, so you lay back, folding your hands over your heart and closing your eyes. The grass brushed against your bare feet, wet and cool, and you drifted into an easy sleep in the soft morning light.

That was the last you heard of that for over a week. It slipped from your mind, as most matters did - people managed just fine without you worrying about them. They would visit you if your aid was needed… and, to be truthful, during the day you were all about using the least amount of effort necessary. The waking world was just so exhausting. However, precisely eleven days after the event, you were visited regarding the matter of the monster child and their gift. In fact, you received a gift from the Great Papyrus himself.

It had been prefaced by a loud, energetic cry of, “HUMAN!”

At that point, all you knew was that something was making quite a lot of noise quite close to you, but it didn't _involve_ you, so there was little to be done about it, really. You stayed still, absorbing the sunshine pooling down on your white garments.

“HUMAN WIZARD!” The voice declared, much closer to you now. You figured the speaker must be kneeling, now, and they were now prodding you lightly. Well. It seemed like your attention was definitely desired.

Opening your eyes, you shifted your head to the side lightly, meeting the gaze of a skeleton with a rather exuberant manner of dress. Red gloves, a red scarf, and an armored plate that glinted in the light, he stood apart from any monster or human you'd ever seen. He carried with him a creamy white plate heaped high with noodles - spaghetti, you recognized, and thick tomato sauce. For a moment, you stared at him, and then yawned languidly. “Have you come for advice?”

“ADVICE? THE GREAT PAPYRUS NEVER NEEDS ADVICE!” He declared, which made you lose interest almost immediately.

Almost.

You eyed the food in his hands. “What do you need from me, then?”

For a moment, he seemed puzzled by your way of speaking, but he seemed to brush it aside. “I NEED TO THANK YOU! I HEARD IT WAS BECAUSE OF YOU THAT I RECEIVED AN EXTREMELY WONDERFUL PRESENT!” He puffed up his chest, eyes glimmering with exuberant pride. “SO, I MADE YOU A GIFT, BECAUSE I HEARD YOU LIKED FOOD!”

You stared at him for a moment, and then sat up, reaching out to take the plate. “Okay.”

Papyrus watched your every movement intently. You leaned forward, sniffing at the offering, and then peered at it, tilting your head side to side. This process lasted long enough for him to make a comment.  “YOU SEEM TO KNOW ME VERY WELL! ARE YOU ONE OF MY FANS, BY CHANCE?”

“No,” you replied, picking up the fork.  
  
“OH!” He seemed to deflate a marginal amount at that, and then picked right back up again. “WELL, YOU MUST BE VERY ASTUTE, THEN!”

“I know what I know.” You rolled the spaghetti around the utensil, then you shoved a bite in your mouth. You chewed. You swallowed. You set both the plate and fork down beside you, and then flopped back down onto your back.

Papyrus paused, peering at you -- although you only knew that because the birds told you. You weren’t looking at him anymore. “WAS IT… SO SPECTACULARLY GOOD YOU COULDN’T HANDLE ANYMORE?”

“It was horrible,” came your blunt reply, and even that was a resounding understatement.

“WOWIE! YOU MUST HAVE A VERY DISCERNING PALATE! SINCE MY SPAGHETTI IS OF THE QUALITY THE ANGELS WILL SING OF! BUT I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM HIGHLY SYMPATHETIC TOWARDS A FELLOW GOURMAND! AND, SO I SHALL HONE MY SKILLS EVEN FURTHER! I SHALL TRAIN MYSELF UP SO I CAN APPEAL TO A GENUINE CULINARIAN SUCH AS YOURSELF! I SHALL WORK, NIGHT AND DAY, UNTIL I CAN PRESENT YOU WITH A DISH THAT SHOULD ASTOUND EVEN YOU!!” You heard The Great Papyrus smack his gloved hand against his armor with extreme vigor.

“Okay.”

“THEN I SHALL GO AND MAKE PREPARATIONS!! GOODBYE, HUMAN! I SHALL SEE YOU TOMORROW!”

“Crane,” you said, birds chirping around you. But he was already gone.

Peace fell over your little corner of the world again, and, gradually, you fell back asleep. You didn’t think much more of the encounter for the rest of the day.


	2. You Continue to be Confronted with Things That are Not Edible

He came, as promised, and offered you more spaghetti.

You tried it, and said exactly what you thought. _It’s disgusting._

He left.

Next time, he didn’t impress you, either, yet when you sent him away, he was no less optimisic then at the beginning.

Nothing changed the next day, nor the next, nor the next, until it wasn't just an  _occurance,_ it was a  _routine._ An easy, repeatable pattern of terrible food that you always gave a chance before condemning. And, even though you weren't really the type of person to spare much thought to anything, you had to wonder... why? Why was he trying so hard, when day after day, you always said, _I hate it,_ or, _it’s disgusting,_ or, _this is awful?_ Why did he even want to please you, anyway? It was so strange. He never wanted advice. Plenty of people came to you, and you helped them solve their problems - worries about money, worries about love, worries about dreams and wishes and fulfilling their purpose in life. Depression, hopelessness, anxiety, fear - people told you their woes, and you gave them something to guide them. They all trusted their problems to a girl who slept all day in a park.

Yet. He had no problems for you to solve.

He didn’t want comfort, or advice, or guidance.

He didn’t want you for anything.

Basking in the gentle spring morning, the thick aroma of flowers curling around you, all you could think was, _I don't understand._ You stared up at the foliage, watching the wind toying with the leaves much like an excitable child with a stray branch. Then, suddenly, a mighty cry burst out over the park, and the process began anew. "HUMAN!"

You lay there, because it felt so strange to respond to so unspecific of a call. “HUMAN WIZARD!”

Okay. That was an excuse. You just didn’t want to get up. The sudden noise startled the birds, though, launching them into the branches above, so you figured you may as well not put it off. With a soft grunt, you pushed on the ground with your palms and inclined your head upwards, taking in the skeleton looming over you.

“I’m Crane,” you supplied - as you always did - blinking the drowsiness from your eyes.

“I BROUGHT SPAGHETTI!” He replied, proffering the plate and bouncing from foot to foot in delight. With a clatter of bones, he knelt, setting the dish down beside you. His indiscreet movement almost sent the noodles flying off into the grass, but he managed a fairly dexterous save, letting out a mighty WHEW!! as he did so.

You examined today’s offering wordlessly. The sauce had strange lumps in it, which you prodded tentatively with a finger. All you managed to do really was get the… substance on your glove, which you wiped onto the grass as you squinted. Papyrus helpfully narrated the ingredients of his latest magnificent work, including - but not limited to - love, sprinkles, tomatoes, pasta, kindness, sugar, olive oil, olives, olive-byproduct, grapes (which were shaped similarly to olives), grape juice, grape jelly, grape jam (the jars had said!! different things!! despite Sans saying they were the same that DOOFUS), enthusiasm, bay leaves, grape leaves, garlic, salt, pepper, cardamom, cinnamon, cilantro, a warrior’s spirit, and more sprinkles.

You listened to this all very patiently, before finally - at his urging - taking the fork, scooping some of the material that had, perhaps, once been pasta in a former lifetime, into your mouth.

Somehow, it was both crunchy and slimey at the same time, but with incredible willpower, you got it down.

“HOW IS IT?? I HAVE TISSUES IN CASE YOU FEEL THE NEED TO WEEP FOR JOY!”

There wasn’t a lot to be done, so you just said the truth, as usual. “I hate it.”

“WHAT!! HOW!! I PUT EVERYTHING I HAD INTO THAT PASTA! LITERALLY! I COULDN’T FIT ANYTHING ELSE ON THE COUNTER!”

He seemed so distraught, that you couldn’t help but ask, “Do you want some advice?” You knew it was pointless, but you wanted to keep the proposition open.

“THANK YOU FOR THE OFFER, HUMAN, IT IS VERY KIND OF YOU! HOWEVER! THIS IS A TRIAL I MUST OVERCOME BY MYSELF! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, MUST BE ABLE TO PLEASE SUCH AN EXCELLENT AND CUNNING PERSON SUCH AS YOURSELF UNDER MY OWN POWER!!”

“Okay,” you replied, folding your hands over your chest and returning to the ground. “Good luck.”

Strangely, though, he didn’t leave. You could feel his presence beside you still, so you tilted your head slightly and opened your eyes to look at him. “Is there anything else?”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot almost… anxiously, before he finally plopped onto the ground into a proper sit, resting his arms on his knees and eyeing you. “I HAVE A QUESTION!”

This was new. “You can ask your question.”

He leaned forward conspiratorially, peering at you. “WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS SLEEPING?”

You thought for a moment. “Because I’m always tired.”

“OH!! IT MUST BE TIRING, BEING SO WISE.” He looked around conspiratorially. “WHO READS YOU YOUR BEDTIME STORY?”

“...Bedtime… story?” you asked, brow furrowing underneath your mask.

“OF COURSE! THE STORY YOU ARE TOLD BEFORE BED, TO CARRY YOU OFF TO A WONDERFUL AND RESTFUL NIGHT OF SLEEP! I’VE NEVER SEEN ANYONE TELL YOU ONE, SO IT MUST HAPPEN VERY EARLY IN THE MORNING!”

“Oh.” You paused. “No, no one tells me any stories. Unless… well, people tell me about their problems when they ask for my advice. I suppose that’s a story.”

“THAT DOESN’T SOUND VERY FUN -- HUH?” What you’d said seemed to have a delayed impact on him. “NO ONE READS YOU A STORY? WHAT ABOUT YOUR FAMILY?”

You shifted your gaze up to the sky, a strange feeling pooling in your chest. “I don’t… talk to my family.”

“WHAT!” Papyrus exclaimed, concern clearly evident in his features - and probably on his face, too, if he was looking. “WHY NOT?”

“I haven’t seen them in a very long time.”

He paused for a bit, looking at you. “ARE THEY FAR AWAY?”

Your voice went a little faint. “My family is very far away.”

“THAT SOUNDS VERY LONELY. MOST OF MY FAMILY IS FAR AWAY, TOO, BUT I HAVE MY BROTHER, SANS, AND EVEN THOUGH HE MAKES THE WORST JOKES AND WON’T PICK UP AFTER HIMSELF, I LOVE HIM VERY MUCH! I COULDN’T IMAGINE NOT HAVING ANYONE LIKE THAT.”

You didn’t reply. You recognized these feelings, now, _hurt_ and _regret,_ things thatfilled your throat up to the brim. When you tried to use your voice, you found that it couldn’t. It was strange, to you. 

Papyrus seemed to notice. “I’M SORRY,” he said. “THAT YOUR FAMILY IS FAR AWAY. I HOPE YOU SEE THEM SOON.”

“Even if I did, I don’t think they’d recognize me,” you admitted softly, watching the clouds waft by. “I’ve changed too much.”

“THAT JUST MEANS THEY GET THE CHANCE TO LEARN NEW THINGS ABOUT YOU, THEN! EVERYBODY CHANGES, AND THE YOU RIGHT NOW IS SUPER COOL! I BET THEY’D BE PROUD TO BE RELATED TO SOMEONE LIKE YOU.”

You sat still for a few moments. “You’re very kind.” It was something you’d known since the day you met him, of course, but you felt like saying it now.

“OF COURSE I’M KIND! I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS, MASTER OF ALL SEVEN VIRTUES!”

  
Idly, you thought that, perhaps, he wasn’t quite as _meek_ as tradition usually demanded, but you didn’t say anything. It wasn’t something you minded. In fact, it was kind of…

Entertaining…?

You didn’t say anything, so he filled the silence by saying, “ANYWAY! I HAVE A FEELING THAT YOU WILL FIND SOMEONE TO READ BEDTIME STORIES TO YOU VERY SOON!”

“Oh.” You paused, not really understanding. “Okay.”

“A VERY, VERY GOOD FEELING! NYEH-HEH-HEH!” He pushed himself to his feet, then stopped, bent down, picked up the discarded spaghetti, and stood again. “I MUST BE GOING NOW, SLEEPY HUMAN WIZARD! BUT I SHALL BE BACK TOMORROW!”

“Okay,” you repeated. “See you.”

He left as suddenly as he came, and you thought about him for a little while, until a rather nervous young man you were acquainted with came by to ask your opinion on whether or not moving in with his girlfriend would go well. (You said it would, because it was true.)

You Knew these things, after all. 

 

* * *

 

The next day he came, after the formal Judging of the Spaghetti (it was bad), you noticed that he had something underneath his arm. A book, it looked like, blue with gold detailing, and you weren’t really sure why, after you’d given your verdict, he settled down next to you and spread it open over his lap. Once he saw you looking at him, he burst into a flurry of proud laughter. “HUMAN WIZARD! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM GOING TO READ YOU A BEDTIME STORY!”

“Oh." You blinked absently at the grinning skeleton, looking from the pages to his face. So that's what he meant.

“THIS MUST BE VERY SURPRISING! I MADE VERY CERTAIN TO KEEP MY INTENTIONS SECRET!”

“I’m very surprised.” Your grasp on sarcasm was tenuous, at best. You were being sincere, since you hadn't really thought about that discussion at all.

“I AM GLAD! NOW, THERE ARE A FEW VERY IMPORTANT THINGS YOU MUST DO BEFORE BEING READ A BEDTIME STORY! FIRST! YOU MUST LIE DOWN IN BED!”

For a moment, you glanced around, and then you returned to the grass, wiggling into your cape a little to fluff it up. It was important to do things properly, you knew.

“GOOD! YOU’RE ALREADY ON STEP TWO: GET COMFORTABLE! YOU’RE A NATURAL!” He beamed, and then said, as if reciting something off a list,  “STEP THREE: BE TUCKED IN!”

Papyrus paused.

He looked down at you.

He squinted.

“HMMN,” he said. After thinking the matter over, he undid his scarf, spreading it over your shoulders in a rough approximation of a blanket. Very, very rough. The fabric itself was soft, though, you could feel it tickling against your chin. “THERE!! ALL TUCKED IN. ARE YOU COZY?”

“Yes.”

“WONDERFUL! NOW! STEP FOUR -- WHICH IS THE BEST STEP! -- THE BEDTIME STORY! I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT SORT OF STORIES HUMANS LIKED, SO I ASKED TORIEL, AND SHE SAID, “FAIRY TALES!” SO, I HOPE YOU LIKE STORIES WITH FAIRIES IN THEM! ALTHOUGH?? MOST OF THEM SEEM TO BE MORE ABOUT PRINCESSES THAN FAIRIES? ANYWAY!”

Papyrus looked down at you, as if gauging your readiness level. Seeming to find it satisfactory, he began to read. “ONCE UPON A TIME…”

It was a very new experience, having someone read to you. You weren’t really sure about the etiquette behind it, so you made a few blunders - like clapping when he finished up with the first story in the book, for example.

(“NO!” He’d exclaimed. “YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO FALL ASLEEP, NOT GET EXCITED AND CLAP!”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”)

He did little voices to distinguish all the characters, which you quite liked. The mouse spoke with a high voice, and he tried to speak prettily and primly whenever he voiced a princess. Apparently, he was trying to mimic the woman you'd heard him talk about before - Toriel - although it wasn't quite the same because she was a queen. You didn't mind. He always did the princes and knights in his own voice, because he was a natural hero, after all, and the ultimate cool dude, so no other voice was fitting. You thought his bird impression was lacking, but at one point he'd had to imitate an evil witch, and you admitted that the cackle was very well done.

It was like you were listening to the radio, which you did occasionally while drying off after Mandatory Showers at the Primus’ house. His voice wasn't fuzzy, though, and didn't spasm or cut out at all, so it was much nicer to listen to. After awhile, you told him so, and he chastised you for interrupting. You thought he was flattered, though, because he began reading with even more enthusiasm. By the end of it, he'd read the entire book to you, and then realized…

“WAIT! YOU’RE NOT ASLEEP YET!”

“I'm not." With some shock, you processed the fact. The sun had drifted higher, then lower again, sending the world into the flickering shadows of the early afternoon, and you knew it'd been hours since you'd slept. It was bizarre, but... “I was having too much fun.”

“AHH! I DIDN’T BRING ANOTHER BOOK! I HAVE NO BACKUP PLAN!”                      

“It’s okay. I feel ready to go to sleep,” you consoled him, so he didn’t feel like this had all been futile. It was so strange to be awake, anyway, so it was the truth. You always told the truth. “As soon as you leave, I’ll probably drift off again.”

“WELL. OKAY. I GUESS THAT’S FINE!” Papyrus shut the book with a mighty ‘paff’, grinning down at you. "I GUESS I’D BETTER GET GOING THEN, SINCE IT MUST BE AWFULLY HARD TO CALM DOWN ENOUGH TO SLEEP AROUND SOMEONE AS GREAT AS ME!"

You didn’t have a chance to say anything before he hauled himself up and ran off. Or when he came hurrying back for the barely-touched spaghetti. Or when he dashed off again, still having forgotten the scarf spread over your shoulders.

Oh well.

  
He could get it tomorrow, you supposed, as you made good on your word and drifted off to sleep.


	3. Our Intrepid Duo Go Grocery Shopping (and Because of Who They Are, it’s Interesting Enough to Tell a Story About)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh I couldn't figure out how to make text smaller while keeping it in a paragraph, so here's Pap speaking in lowercase instead of smaller uppercase like I'd originally intended. I'LL FIGURE IT OUT LATER. PS dusk posted this ABSOLUTELY ROCKIN fanart that I'm delighted by and have to show off.
> 
> http://imgur.com/p77wcer

You were having a very bad day.

It was hard to define why, really, other than you just felt prickly, and heavy, and wrong, like your skin didn’t fit you, like your stomach was too great of a weight for your body to carry. You’d retreated up into one of the trees, letting the shadow and solitude of the leaves encompass you. The noise of the playground had a strange sort of unpleasantness, today; each delighted shriek that spiked through the air made you flinch, causing you to retreat deeper into yourself as you curled up as small as you could.

You felt like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit right in the rest of the world. Ugly, misshapen, it made your heart queasy and your sleep restless. You caught snatches of it, here and there, but they were only vague murmurings that did your body little good.

The birds dotted the trees around you, standing vigil like portents of a grim future. That was probably how Papyrus found you, actually, because you certainly didn’t respond to his call of, “HUMAN! WHERE ARE YOU, HUMAN WIZARD? I HAVE MY BEST SPAGHETTI FOR YOU, YET!”

You could see his blindingly red figure through the leaves, and his buoyant voice carried throughout the entire park, but -- but you couldn’t bear it, right now, and so you put your hands over your ears to muffle the noise. Fervently, you heard your heart hammer in your chest, and you tried your best to steady your uneasy breathing.

“HUMAN WIZ--” You heard the sound -- so close, now, right below you -- cut off sharply. Then, the sound of rustling leaves and scuffling boots, and you felt a presence pull themselves up near you, although you still couldn’t open your eyes and look.

"Crane?" he called, gentling his voice to a surprising degree. You felt the tension in your shoulders ease, somewhat, and you wet your mouth with your tongue before you spoke.

“Hello, Great Papyrus,” you rasped a bit, throat dry. “I’m not hungry today, I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine! I do not mind. I am concerned for your health, though! Are you feeling ill??”

“Yes.”

“What sort of ill? I'll get you some medicine.”

“Not the kind you fix with medicine.”

“Oh,” he said softly. “Is it the sort of ill you fix with hugs?”

“No.”

“Okay.” He paused for a bit, and you relaxed a little more in the silence. “Do you want me to go?”

“No.” You were surprised at the answer, but this was… okay.

“You said you were not hungry. Have you not eaten, then?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to.”

Another pause. You opened your eyes, tipping your gaze up and peering at him through the eyeholes of your mask. His smile widened when he noticed you looking at him. “You should eat something, even if it's small. If you feel bad, you aren't going to feel better without food.”

“I don’t want to eat anything. Everything is awful. I -- ” You paused, and realized you were admitting something to him. After a moment of struggle, you continued. “I don’t… actually like food.”

You saw his eye sockets widen. “You don't like food? At all?”

“...I…” You paused. “Used to. I used to like food, very much. But I don’t like the food here.”

“Why not?”

You squinted and thought to the things you had been given as offerings. Donuts. Kit-kats. Skittles. Something called a cannoli. Beef jerky. Sandwiches. Soup. Pizza. ...Spaghetti. You just -- “They’re… too much. Too… sweet, or too… greasy, or too…” You struggled, trying to find the words to convey yourself. “It’s usually fine, I can deal with it, but not right now.”

Papyrus thought about this again. You eased up a little more, resting your chin on your knees. “Is there anything you remember liking to eat?”

“I… like fish. Sometimes people bring me fish sandwiches. I like fruit. Primus brings me fruit, but...” To be honest, you could have gone there from the beginning - but, to be truthful, you really, really didn’t want to move.

“Okay. Would you like to go with me to the grocery store and pick out something to eat?”

“The… grocery… store?” You asked, trying to figure out where you’d heard the word before. You thought you’d heard about something like that.

“YES!! I mean,” he lowered his voice and removed one of the exclamation points. “The grocery store is an amazing place! It has more boxes of spaghetti than you can count!” A pause. “Actually, that is not true, you can count them. I've done that. But they have lots of different kinds of pasta!”

“Oh,” you murmured, very much uninterested in pasta, but Papyrus had more to say, wagging a finger at you.

“And! They have fruit! Lots of fruit! Also, they have fish, and lobsters in tanks!”

You perked up at the sound of that. “You can find fruit at the… grocery store?”

“Yes! I'll take you there. Would you like that?”

“Is it far?”

“How far is far?”

“Do I have to leave the park?”

“Oh. Yes. It will be a fifteen minute walk, or so."

You paused, taking in this information. You really, really didn’t want to go anywhere - the mere idea of getting up and walking around was an exhausting proposition. Seeing you descend into grim sulking, Papyrus’ expression broadened as he had an Idea.

"I could carry you on my back! Then, you wouldn't have to walk at all - you could just rest!”

You tilted your head from side-to-side, thinking the matter. This actually sounded like a pretty reasonable proposition, so, after a short time, you replied, “Okay.”

It was strange how such a small word could make him light up with such intense delight. That was the power of yes and no - they were the ultimate words of creation and destruction. Letting out a huge yawn, you shifted into a crouch, spreading your toes out over the bark of the branch as Papyrus gleamed with excitement.

“This will be an excellent adventure! You'll see!” Without any further preamble, Papyrus pushed himself out of the tree, landing on the ground with a mighty thud. You leaned forward, peering at him through the leaves, but he seemed entirely unharmed despite the fall. “WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO CATCH YOU?”

“That is unnecessary.” You climbed down part of the way, as you were a fairly dexterous creature, and then you let yourself drop, settling on the ground much more delicately than he had.

Papyrus beamed -- well, no, it was probably fair to say that he never stopped beaming - and crouched down, presenting his back to you. “JUST WRAP YOUR ARMS AROUND MY NECK!” he instructed, a bit too loudly for your tastes. “AND I’LL HOLD YOUR LEGS.”

You bent forward, doing as he asked - it was strange, at first, because there wasn’t much of a body to lean against, but his armored chest provided some support, and once you’d got your arms around him it was easier for him to scoop up your legs and heft you up. His torso didn’t support you much considering the… lack of meaningful bulk, so, to compensate, you shimmied up a bit higher, resting more of your weight against his shoulders and draping yourself partially across his head.

“ALRIGHT! ARE YOU SUITABLY COMFORTABLE?”

“Yes.” You’d never gotten a piggyback ride from a skeleton before, but you supposed this was pretty alright. It was nice being so high up; Papyrus was quite tall.

“EXCELLENT! LET US --” A pause, and then Papyrus remembered that he should be moderating his voice. “I'm sorry. Let us venture forth!”

“It’s okay; you can talk as you usually do. I feel a little bit better.”

“REALLY? NYEH-HEH-HEH!” Papyrus let out his distinctive cackle, the sound carrying throughout the park. “OF COURSE YOU DO, BASKING IN THE PRESENCE OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS WOULD CURE ANY ILLNESS!”

You couldn’t disagree. It was like being warmed by the sun after a cold week of rain; things felt a bit better, now.

 

* * *

 

 

The pair of you set off - or, well, more precisely, Papyrus did, as you were contributing literally nothing to this endeavor beyond your mere presence. As he walked, Papyrus told you about all of the excellent things they had at the grocery store, including things that weren’t edible, such as greeting cards, pens, charcoal, and the little toys they had at the ends of aisles that Papyrus couldn’t help but buying on impulse.

You listened quietly as you drifted off a little bit, to him and to the cooing pigeons who’d followed you with bobbing footsteps, until he stopped suddenly and proclaimed, “HERE WE ARE!”

You roused yourself, which was easy enough, as you couldn’t really fall properly asleep in only a few minutes, and peered up at the grey, blocky building that Papyrus grandiosely gestured to. “Super Shopper,” you murmured, reading the huge, equally blocky red letters emblazoned high above the gigantic glass double doors.

“YES! IT HAS SUPER IN THE NAME, WHICH IS HOW YOU KNOW IT IS AN EXCELLENT ESTABLISHMENT.”

You peered at the stands of flowers arranged by the door - pansies and petunias and other spring blossoms, growing out of baskets and pots and labelled with big, black numbers. “Huh,” was all the commentary you felt like adding.

At first, you were a bit confused when Papyrus strode confidently up to the doors without reaching to push them open - for a moment, you were certain he was going to run straight into the glass like an unfortunate bird - but then you remembered that automatic doors were a thing that existed. It still didn’t stop you from flinching a bit when they swung open suddenly, though, and you eyed them suspiciously as you passed.

As you looked back to tell the pigeons that they had to stay outside, you heard Papyrus ask, “DO YOU THINK WE’LL NEED A BASKET OR A CART?”

You glanced around, bewildered, and then saw the clustered metal baskets-on-wheels penned off to the side of the entryway you were standing in. Distantly, you remembered being shown something like this before - and you think that someone had explained how it all worked, too - but you’d been sad so you hadn’t paid attention. Being reminded of this was sort of overwhelming, so you tucked your face against the top of Papyrus’ skull, partially obscuring his vision with the beak of your mask.

The burden of decisions was lifted from you. “LET’S GO WITH THE CART! IT’S MORE TRADITIONAL.”

“Okay,” you mumbled, mostly to be polite. You didn’t feel like saying much.

You heard the click-clack of wheels and metal as he extracted a cart from its pasture. You both seemed to realize simultaneously that it’d be difficult to both hold you and navigate the cart through the store, but luckily, Papyrus had a very easy solution to this problem. “HUMAN WIZARD!” he announced, drawing some attention from a couple passing by. “I AM GOING TO PUT YOU IN THE SHOPPING CART!”

“Okay.”

He bent down, and you slid off -- and kept sliding, as your legs felt like jelly and you didn’t really have the drive to use them. You landed on the tiled floor with a paff of fabric, staring ahead absently before looking up at Papyrus.

“YOU KNOW,” he said somewhat conversationally, “YOU LIKE MOVING JUST ABOUT AS MUCH AS SANS!” After stating this, he hooked his hands underneath your armpits and picked you up like you were a children’s toy.

You looked down at him, your legs dangling in the air. “I hate moving.”

“EXACTLY! HE HATES MOVING, TOO.”

“Oh, right,” you mumbled, remembering him mentioning something about that. “You said he was lazy.”

“HE’S A BIT OF A WASTREL!!” Papyrus gently set you in the cart so you were facing him as he pushed it. Like sludge, you let yourself sink into the basket, your knees coming up as your back slid down. With a shudder of metal, he began to push the cart, and you felt yourself bump over the doorway. Idly, you wondered if Papyrus thought you were a wastrel, too.

You yawned.

Everything in here was very… big. No, more -- lots. There was very much of… everything. Color, light, height, things, there was so much stuff that was boxed and organized and it made you feel a little strange. But, the metal gridding around you functioned as walls, providing something that at least felt like a barrier to you and making everything a bit less intimidating.

“THE FRUIT IS THIS WAY!” You felt yourself turn, and glanced around. You could see befuddled expressions on some people’s faces, but nobody approached you about what was going on. Just as well. It’d be a pain to deal with, although, once you said you were a wizard, well -- most people seemed to stop asking questions after that.

You stopped thinking about the other shoppers once you saw the piles upon piles of fruit Papyrus was wheeling you towards. Turning, you sat on your knees, settling your gloved fingers on the edge of the cart. “CAREFUL!” you heard him say behind you. “YOU’LL TIP THE CART OVER IF YOU LEAN FORWARD TOO FAR!”

You didn’t care, because you saw the holy grail of all fruit sitting there in a tantalizing stack. Blueberries. There were more blueberries than you could count - mostly, because you’d be too busy shoving them directly into your face. Suddenly, you felt how overwhelmingly hungry you were, and you reached out, leaning over the edge of the cart as your red fingers spread out to the display.

The world sunk and then jolted back to alignment as Papyrus pressed firmly down on the cart’s handle to keep it from crashing forward and depositing you onto the floor. Inertia sent you back, plopping you back onto your butt for the second time today. As you tipped your head upwards to look at Papyrus’ expression, you looked sort of like a child in a playpen.  
The skeleton was loudly exclaiming, but it made your ears ring so you didn’t really process it. Instead, you pointed forward and said, “I want that.”

Papyrus halted mid-sentence, looking down at you before his expression melted into a smile gentler than any you’d seen from before. “YOU DON’T HAVE TO REACH SO FAR FOR IT! I’LL TAKE YOU TO ANYTHING YOU WANT, OKAY?”

For some unexplainable reason, you pouted at the concept of patience, but you decided that it was fair enough. “Okay.”

The cart bumped a little as he pushed it towards the stand you’d been so desperate to investigate. Flanked by the line of blueberries, you recognized raspberries and blackberries, but you had something of a one-track mind at the moment. Without hesitation, you reached out, snatched a package, and tore it open, dipping your hand into the plastic container and smooshing a collection of pretty little blue berries into your mouth. One of them slipped out of your grasp, and you caught it with your other hand before it could make it to the floor. Not today.

“UM.” Papyrus watched you, his face falling into slight bewildered confusion. “UM, CRANE, WE NEED TO PAY FOR THAT.”

“Hunnh?” You said through a mouth full of blueberries.

“IT’S OKAY TO EAT BEFORE YOU PAY IN A RESTAURANT, BUT NOT IN A GROCERY STORE!”

A pause. The pause lengthened, and included a store employee watching the scene with a mixture of worry, confusion, and distress. “Oh,” you finally said, looking down at your purple stained gloves. The Primus would probably be annoyed by the stains. “Right. I remember that, now. I don’t have any money.”

“THAT’S FINE! I TOOK YOU HERE TO BUY YOU FOOD. I’D INTENDED TO PAY.”

“Oh.” You paused, struggling with some strange motion overtaking your chest, and then stood, suddenly, the metal of the cart poking uncomfortably into your bare feet as you curled your toes around the bars to keep you steady. Papyrus stared at you in surprise, and you reached out, putting your hands on either side of his face. “Thank you very much,” you said seriously, because you were starting to appreciate the full kindness of what he was doing for you. “Are you certain I can’t give you any sort of advice in return? I’ll even speak candidly of the future, just for you.”

Papyrus smiled at you, bright and golden. “THERE’S NO NEED FOR THAT! I AM CONFIDENT THAT THE FUTURE WILL BE VERY EXCELLENT AND FULL OF SURPRISES, AND THE GREAT PAPYRUS HAS NO NEED FOR ADVICE! I’M DOING JUST FINE.”

“So… there’s nothing I can give you?”

“ALL I WANT IS FOR YOU TO FEEL BETTER!”

You weren’t sure how to deal with this, so instead you sat back down, tucking yourself up against the back of the cart. Once more, you picked up the blueberries, but instead of just fulfilling your desire to have them immediately and directly in your face, you snapped the container shut, putting it beside you. Unbeknownst to you, the poor, undeserving high schooler who had the misfortune to be on shift today breathed a heavy sigh of relief and returned to restocking the canned soup in the next aisle over.

Papyrus continued to push you around, moving you towards whatever caught your interest. More blueberries ended up in the cart beside you, along with blackberries, sunflower seeds, peas, and some bread from the bakery aisle that you couldn’t resist taking a small nibble from. He couldn’t bear to not show you to the pasta aisle, where you admired all the differently shaped carbohydrates and how they rattled when you shook the box.

You didn’t really understand the concept of ‘gift cards’, but he took you there anyway to check out all the pretty pictures. One in particular caught your eye - it had an eagle on it, and, scrawled in pretty golden writing below were the words, ‘I hope your birthday leaves you SOARing!’ Not really understanding, you picked it up and opened it -- and blinked a bit in surprise when it started playing some sort of music.

“How…?” You muttered tilting it from side to side and peering at it. The noise stopped when you closed it and remerged when you opened it again, which entertained you highly. Your antics drew Papyrus’ attention, and he leaned over, seeing what you were up to.

“OH! A BIRTHDAY CARD! ACTUALLY, THAT REMINDS ME -- WHEN IS YOUR BIRTHDAY?” Papyrus said in a tone that conveyed extremely blatant affected disinterestedness.

The question took you a bit off guard, and you thought the matter over as the small, tinny song played in the background. “Um. I don’t know.”

“WHAT!!! HOW!!! DON’T YOU KNOW YOUR BIRTHDAY!!!” Absolutely aghast, Papyrus waved his hands with energetic distress, then, as usual, reinterpreted what you meant according to his own whims. “OH!! DO YOU NOT KNOW TO KEEP IT EXTRA-SURPRISING WHEN PEOPLE THROW YOU A SURPRISE BIRTHDAY PARTY?”

“I’ve never had a birthday party.”

“YOU’VE NEVER HAD A BIRTHDAY PARTY!” He shouted in the sort of voice that implied you’d just revealed a devastating trauma equivalent to the sudden death of your parents or the murder of your dog. “SO YOU’VE NEVER OPENED BIRTHDAY PRESENTS? OR HAD BIRTHDAY CAKE? OR WORN A BRIGHTLY-COLORED CONE ON YOUR HEAD AND SUNG THE BIRTHDAY SONG?”

“I don’t like cake, but no, I’ve never done any of that.”

Papyrus went quiet, staring at you huddled between the various consumables you’d declared palatable. Suddenly, he leaned over, patting you lightly on the top of your red hat. “WELL, DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT!” he said, smiling. “IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE YOU’D LIKE TO LOOK AT?”

“Umm.” You curled your toes in and out as you mulled this over. “I don’t know. Is there anything you’d like to show me?”

“HMN… AH! I KNOW WHAT YOU SHOULD SEE!” The cart squeaked into motion again, and the pair of you passed a befuddled mother and son duo. “LET’S LOOK AT THE CAKE DECORATIONS!”

You shifted, resting your chin on the edge of the cart and watching your surroundings pass you by. There were lobsters in tanks, and men behind counters cutting up meat, and big jars of substances with names too small to read. He took you past aisles of densely packed goods, but you didn’t have to worry about anything because you had your box and everything else was outside of it. Riding around like this was pretty fun, actually. Maybe you should do this more often.

Eventually, he turned to the left, introducing you to an aisle filled with pots, pans, and various cooking implements. Taking you to the end of the aisle, he gestured to a few rows of plastic bottles, each filled to the brim with brightly colored shapes. Stars, hearts, moons, little capsules of sparkles and glitter that glinted when they caught the light…

“MY FAVORITES ARE THESE ONES!” he picked up something out of the assortment, showing them to you. They were orange and round and had little black lines on them, and they reminded you of a ball you’d seen children at the park playing with. You wondered if that was a game Papyrus played, too. “WHICH ONE IS YOURS?”

He was patient as you looked for a time, and then, slowly, you reached your hand up, picking one of the tubes up and holding it up to the fluorescent light above. “Pretty,” you murmured, turning the sprinkles about and watching the illumination reverberate in their colored forms. Some of them reminded you of ice because of how light and clear and blue they were, and some of crystallized grass. “Really, really pretty.”

Papyrus watched you fondly, leaning against the handle of the cart a bit. “YOU CAN HAVE THAT, IF YOU WANT!”

“Really?” You looked up at him, eyes wide through your mask.

“DEFINITELY!”

You kept staring at him, but were interrupted by a grumbling sound from your stomach. Being patient was getting kind of hard.

“OH! WE SHOULD FINISH UP, SO YOU CAN EAT!” He swerved the cart around, pushing it to the lines of cashiers as you held the sprinkles tightly to your chest. “LET US ENGAGE IN CAPITALISM!”

 

* * *

 

As the world turned to darkness, you packed up your paper bag of food. The bread was mostly eaten - you’d shared that with Papyrus and the birds - but you still had berries for tomorrow, although you’d been told that they wouldn’t keep for very long. That was tomorrow’s problem, you thought to yourself, looping your arm through the handles of the bag and climbing the big oak you’d claimed as ‘your’ tree… as much as anything was yours, really. It was mostly just the place you kept your stuff.

Setting it in a comfortable spot between two branches, you rustled around inside and withdrew the plastic tube of sprinkles Papyrus had bought for you. Admiring them one last time in the dying light, you put them in another bag you had stashed up here, nestling it among some shiny stones and pretty wrappers you’d collected.

Staring down at your newly expanded collection of treasures, you felt kind of warm, although you weren’t really sure why. Around you, the sky was darkening, pink-washing into purple as evening spread languidly across the land, and you stood, a single, shadowed figure among many feathered silhouettes.

It was time to work, you supposed, and you jumped down into the night.


	4. The Nature of Your Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your duties are revealed, and cryptic conversations are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lil bit of a weird chapter, I guess, if you don't read the other Gifts of the Magi stuff some stuff might be weird and surprising. I tried my best to keep it understandable even if you don't, but it's hard to gauge these things! (Also, just to clarify the timeline -- the events so far happen in the spring, while the events of Wrong Number happen in July. )

You stepped into the building, the light glimmering like stars around you. The transition from bare concrete to plush, red carpeting was a welcome one, but something about the lobby made you uncomfortable. Maybe it was the austere, polished marble, or maybe it was the pristinely cleaned couches, but you felt like you didn't quite belong here. It was no matter, though. You’d been invited.

And an invitation meant you could travel wherever you pleased. Your business was important, after all.

You tn-tnked across the floor to the counter, a jar cradled in your arms and a bag at your side. The woman sitting there didn’t notice you, at first, but when she did, she started suddenly, looking away from the glow of the computer screen to you. “Goodness,” she murmured, letting out a breath. “You’re quiet.”

“Yes.” You flexed your toes, digging your digits into the carpet. “What number?”

“Ah -- “ she leaned over, peering at something next to the keyboard. “421. The elevators are that way, just go down that hall and turn right. You’ll be right there.”

Nodding slightly, you turned, stepping quickly in the direction she’d pointed out to you, though when given the opportunity, you forwent the elevator in favor of the stairs.

Cold, even stairs and identical corridors awash with light were as alien to you now as they were the first day you’d come to this city. It was strange to think that behind all of these little doors were countless little stories, of momentary travels and brief encounters. It made you think of permanence, transience, and how lives echoed and repeated. In a way, the very building reminded you of humanity itself.

The room was easy enough to find. You knocked, two little taps muffled by the fabric of your glove, and since you were expected, the way was opened for you soon enough.

The Primus looked down at you, somehow standing tall despite the exhaustion clearly evident in his features. Pride kept him stern and stoic, a miserable facade meant to atone for crimes you were far too young to know.

As long as you’d known him, he’d never once allowed you to take away his nightmares.

“Crane,” he politely, dipping his head and holding the door open for you. “I’m glad to see you.”

“Hello.” You stepped inside the dimly lit room, then immediately made a beeline for the window. You heaved it up, letting the cool night air seep in, but with some disappointment found that a screen barred the way outside.

“Hey there, Crane.” With a creak, Inquisitor Legbiter pushed himself up off one of the beds, setting his sword down on the blanket as he walked over to you. “Lemme get that.”

You pulled your hand away from the mesh, looking over at the man. A sudden scent washed over you - wet dirt, grass, and something like cinnamon. You grabbed onto the earthen colored poncho he was so fond of wearing in his off-hours, burying your face into the knit fabric and sniffing.

“...Having fun?” Legbiter asked, a wry quirk to his mouth.

“You smell nice.”

“Oh-hoh, do I, now? What have you got to say ‘bout that, Primey?”

“....Why are you asking me?” His careful question was punctuated by a particularly dubious look.

“Because you like him the most.” A short laugh emerged from the Inquisitor at your plain declaration.

The leader of the wizards could only put his head in his hands like an embarrassed schoolboy. “If you didn’t notice, Crane, _we have company.”_

“Oh, right.” You had noticed, actually, but you’d gotten caught up in things. Turning away from the window, you finally turned your full attention to the third man in the room. With a polite bow, you introduced yourself. “Hello. I am called Crane.”

He was old; you could see the careful lines of age worn deeply into his face. Small froths of white, curly hair lined his scalp, and he had a wide mouth seemingly meant for smiling. At this moment, though, exhaustion plagued his features, and as you addressed him, he snapped back to attention, having been on the verge of drifting off. He smiled - something that should be slow and easy, but a strain darkened its edges. He was a faded man, stretched thin by turmoil and lack of sleep.

It was something you’d seen many times before.

“Cobbler,” he replied. He was sitting with his back against the headboard, keeping himself propped up with his hands on his lap. With a slow, arthritic motion, he extended his hand towards you, and you took it, marvelling at how age made mankind so delicate. “Under Moon and Star, if you’d like to be exact.”

You heard a light popping noise behind you as the Inquisitor got the screen out. Immediately, you felt more comfortable with direct, immediate access to the night air now available. “You’ve come a very long way to see me.”

He dropped your hand, settling his fingertips back onto the mattress.“Distance means nothing to a man as ill as I.”

“I cannot promise you success. Only hope,” you warned, seating yourself beside him and setting the jar in your lap.

“Hope is enough. I didn’t even have that, until I heard tell of your gift.” He laughed, a hollow sound mixed with a smattering of coughing. “It eats at me, this curse. Slowly, I’m forgetting who I am. I see devils in the shadows and in the faces of my family. Kill them, it says to me, before they kill you. I’ll go mad soon enough; see a demon where my daughter stands, or lose myself to nightmare as I sleep. All I ask is that if you cannot cure me, you end it quickly. I do not know how much longer I can stay awake.”

“I can promise you that, at least,” Legbiter resumed his sentry position on the adjacent bed. He rested his elbows on his knees, bent over the sword he had propped up between his legs. “You’ll go to the afterlife with honor.”

The Primus watched this exchange quietly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Sometimes, you wondered what he was thinking about during nights like this. He’d always been hard for you to read.

“Thank you.” Cobbler looked at you, now, and you could discern a slight, milky cloudiness to his eyes. “And thank you, too, for tending to the sanity of a sorry old man.”

“You matter.” It was a tragedy that the Beast so often preyed upon the elderly. Those who spent so long serving could not even drift into twilight peacefully - they were dragged there by a roaring curse that stripped them of their humanity. “Now, sleep, and pray that a better morning will await you.”

He eased himself down onto the immaculate sheets, letting out a long, wheezing breath. “No matter what happens, little miss, I’ll be happier than I am now.”

You leaned over, fingers finding the switch on the lamp after a few minutes of fumbling. With a _click,_ the room was plunged into darkness. By the meager illumination from the city outside, you could see Legbiter’s silhouette, tensed and ready. The brim of hat shadowed his eyes, making him a somewhat eerie figure in the dark, though despite that his presence was still innately comforting... as was the mighty gale of flapping as an owl landed on the sill of the open window, big, black eyes weakly glimmering in the light.

In preparation, you unscrewed the lid of your jar, each little shift and sound audible in the quiet room. You could hear Cobbler’s breathing beside you slow, finally succumbing to the rest that he’d denied himself for so long. You could hear the sound of the Primus’ hand tightening on his arm as the shadows in the room began deepening in barely perceptible degrees. More telling was a prickle on the back of your neck, a tightening in the air - and you focused on that cool, subtle breeze drifting in from the outside world.

Softly, your friend called to you, a _ha-ha-ha-hooooah,_ and you placed the tips of your fingers over the old man’s heart, drawing your hand upwards and pulling out his soul. It hung there, bright and red, gleaming like a planet in the tapestry of the sky, and you set the glass container beneath it.

Amusing, in a way, how a pickle jar could one day serve such an occult purpose.

You cupped the soul with your hands, feeling the warmth radiating off of it. Gently, oh so gently -- you shielded it from the encroaching darkness as reality slipped away.

There wasn’t an exact moment when it happened, really, and that was what was so dangerous about the nightmares of magi. Wizards brought hopes and dreams into reality - _they changed the world according to those fantasies._ And those innocent dreams were so easily corrupted by sorrow, by fear, and by hate. In little increments, a soul could be poisoned, sometimes completely unconsciously. That diseased heart produced malice, particularly in such an uncontrollable state like sleep.

Malice could become real through the determination of a wizard, and thus a nightmare was born.

Cobbler Under Moon and Star was one among many. Slowly, unwillingly, his sanity was slipping, and no matter how prepared he was to fight those dark, creeping thoughts. the curse of his blood would strangle all resistance in those lonely hours between sunset and sunrise. Self-hatred, weakness -- how could you blame him? How could anyone blame him? He’d done nothing particularly wrong. How was it fair that the simple, tender hearts of humans were so easily torn and shattered?

It brought you sorrow, and with it, determination. You felt the coolness of stone on your legs as you leaned over, praying over the dreaming man. You heard something slithering along the edge of the room - a snake, perhaps, so large that it could eat the sun and the moon and the entire world. You heard something scuttling in the pure, complete darkness, but all you could see was that simple, fluttering soul in between your fingers, as delicate and fragile as the bones of a bird.

You’d keep it from the dark that would offer it power. And - lightly, as you leaned in, you breathed on it, a single burst of pure, heartfelt compassion. With it, that heart began to leak - a glistening drip of things too wretched to name. Plip. Plop. You heard the water and the sea --

And the _ha-ha-ha-hooaaaaaah_ of your friend calling to you, across a lake of fantasy and delusion.

You blew carefully, beckoning out the dark, ancient water of a curse deep and bitter. Something rasped near you, a thorn snagged your cape, and you heard the sound of the nebulous _it_ being wrenched away and beheaded by your guardian. That was his purpose, here -- and the Primus served as your witness.

The ritual continued in much this way. You beckoned out the dark, bottled it up, and relieved Cobbler of years of coagulated sorrow. You worked with quiet urgency, with gentle tenderness, and most importantly --

Unquenchable purity.

You could never, ever be infected by the evil that surrounded you. That was your gift.

You alone were not cursed. The wrath of innumerable wicked deeds fell from your shoulders like water. You alone could relieve them of their sorrow.

With a sudden start, you realized it was finished. The nightmare was over, and its absence brought about a burst of clarity. Once more, you could feel that cool air and make out the gentle shadows dotting the cream-colored walls of the hotel room. Somewhere far below you, a car drove down the street, and you could hear it at the edge of your heightened senses. Your breath caught, and then -- slowed, easing a bit as you pulled the jar of dark, swampy malice towards you. Quickly, you screwed the lid on - _tight_ \- binding that curse within a prison of glass.

You heard a relieved sigh behind you and heard a shhhnk of metal as Legbiter sheathed his namesake. “Good work,” he said, warm smile evident in his tone. There was no trace of whatever creature had tried to attack you. It wasn’t something born of this reality, after all. “He’s safe, I trust?”

You looked at the pair of them, then spoke softly in consideration for the sleeping wizard. “Yes. Everything went well. What’s the hour?”

The Primus reached into his pocket, then realized that he couldn’t very well see his watch in the _dark._ He tried anyway, stubborn as he was, squinting at the shadowed glass. “Uh.”

Legbiter snickered, resting a hand on the bedside table as he leaned in and flicked the lamp onto its dimmest setting. He said nothing beyond that, but the teasing implication was clear.

With a scowl, the Primus properly checked the time. “It’s been -- goodness, two hours already? I forget how quickly time slips from us. It's ten, now.”

“Such is the world of dreams. I should go, however. The nights grow shorter, and I have more places I ought to visit.” You moved to stand, one arm encircled around your jar of nightmares, but something caught your wrist. Cobbler. He looked up at you, wonder in those milky eyes, probably having awakened with the light.

 _“I feel so light,”_ he breathed, staring at you in rapture. “It’s -- it’s gone. It’s _gone._ It’s true, what they say, you are a blessed child. How did the world come to produce someone as pure as you?”

The Primus pushed himself off the wall, preparing to enter the conversation. You spoke first, however. “I am what I am - nothing more, nothing less.”

The grip tightened. “Your humbleness does you credit. How long have you lived in this city?”

You -- didn’t… actually know the answer to that, so you paused, trying to recall. The Primus did, however, and held up two fingers as he said, “Two years.”

The hand on your wrist went slack again, and you could step away. “Two years,” he mused. “Your name will spread very far, little miss, and for good reason. That an uncursed wizard would ever exist… why, I hadn’t expected to live to see such a day. The future really does belong to our wonderful youth.” Slowly, his eyes eased closed, and you figured he was drifting back off to sleep. “Under the care of hands like yours… I’m sure it’ll be very bright. Very bright, indeed.”

Standing there in that dim room, with a man who remembered so _much_ , you could only feel oddly… peculiar. Legbiter indicated the door briefly before reaching out to turn off the light again. He was right - you should leave Cobbler to his rest.

Before leaving, you glanced back at the still-open window and the massive bird framed by it. Remembering what was owed - you’d be reminded quite forcefully of it if you forgot, after all - you rifled among your things, withdrawing a small paper towel. Quizzically, the Primus watched as you unwrapped a dead mouse and - with a light toss - flung it into the maw of a ravenous bird.

The owl began horking it down, and - deciding not to stay to watch the spectacle - the older man opened the door, carving out a bright rectangle of light in the darkness.

You felt like there was something you should say, once the three of you were assembled in the corridor, but the words didn’t come. Looking down at the ooze filled jar, you only felt… strange, despite having done this for, well, two years, apparently. Lightly, the Primus rested a hand on your shoulder, looking down at you with some concern.

“Don’t worry too much about it,” he said softly, glancing briefly at the door. “I won’t let them turn you into a god.”

You paused, briefly, realizing that he’d seen right to the heart of the matter, something you hadn’t even quite understood yourself. Those that came to you so desperately seeking succor - they ladened such fervent praises on you. Miracle girl. Blessing. Hope of the future.

And you weren’t.

They thought you were mankind’s redemption and you _weren’t._

“He has no idea,” you said faintly, and you looked between the Primus and his Inquisitor. “None of them have any idea.”

“No,” the Primus said with a sigh. “Some have figured out, and even fewer I’ve told, but I thought it would be safer for you if your… circumstances were kept secret. Would you like me to tell people?”

You thought of it, and immediately shook your head. “No. Uncertain about why, but no.”

He shrugged. “That suits me fine. I don’t want some damn fool trying to repeat what was done to you. In your case, well -- “ He paused, rubbing at his mouth. “Well. I was going to say it was _necessary,_ but I still don’t really know your opinion on that.”

Turning that jar in between your hands, you thought of many things. Necessity. Duty. The souls you soothed at night, and the nightmares you took from people and locked away. You thought of the mornings, when you gave what advice you could and listened to the cries of the lonely spirit. And then you thought of a smiling man and a jar of sprinkles, and you said, “I’m glad.”

“Mmn?” The Inquisitor said, watching you from the Primus’ side. “Glad of what?”

“That I’m alive.” You thought of the man who needed you for nothing, and came to speak to you simply because _you_ were _you_ and _he thought you were great._ Not for wisdom or for miracles, but for _you._ “I met someone who makes it seem worth it.”

The Primus and the Inquisitor shared a look of equal parts curiosity, relief, and bafflement. “They must be an extraordinary person,” the former said, squeezing your shoulder lightly. “To make you feel that way.”

“Yes. He’s… very nice.” You looked down at your bare feet, feeling oddly wistful. “Thank… you. Both of you. You’ve been… very nice to me.”

Pulling away in confusion, the Primus looked at Legbiter, and then down at you once more. “I don’t think I’ve done _enough._ You’re one of my people, Crane. My life is dedicated to keeping you safe.” A pause, then, “And you’ve done quite a lot for this city and those who visit it. You have no need to thank me.”

Lightly, you shook your head. “You care. A lot. You should be thanked for that.” Then, you looked up, confidence somewhat restored. “I should go. I need to go see Two-Bit, and some other people.”

A stark pause. “Is there something wrong with Two-Bit?”

You shook your head. “Nothing in particular. I wanted to check on them, though. They worry a lot, and my visits put them at ease.”

The Primus relaxed, and Legbiter laughed lightly, patting the other man’s shoulder. “Ease up there, buddy,” he chided, his tone warm. “Seriously, you’re like a border collie fretting over a flock of sheep.”

Legbiter got a grumble in return. “They’ve been through enough already; of _course_ I’d be concerned if I thought they were in trouble.”

You couldn’t help a small smile of amusement. “You’re very gentle-hearted, you know,” you said softly, half because it was the truth and half because you knew it’d bother him.

“Wh-- What! I’m not soft, h--hey! Hey, don’t just -- DON’T RUN WITH THAT, IT’S DANGEROUS!” he called after you as you scampered off, jar of nightmares in hand. Sighing roughly, the Primus dragged a hand across his face. “More like a crow than a crane.”

“Mmn,” the Inquisitor chimed in helpfully, his gaze slipping to the side. “So. What was that about me smelling nice?”

_"Oh my God don’t you start.”_

 

* * *

 

The birds told you when he was coming, now, excited chittering that flitted through the park. They saw him coming down the street, they said, with his bright red scarf and shining silver armor. He had more spaghetti for you, they said, and you let out a grunt as you pushed yourself up to meet him.

As usual, his spaghetti was dreadful, although this time, he’d put blueberries in the sauce which you’d picked out, wiped off, and eaten. You supposed that was a success.

He brought something else for you, too, beaming across from you with his legs crossed. “CRANE! I WOULD LIKE YOU TO READ THIS!” he said proudly, offering you an envelope that had once been white. Now, though, it was littered with stickers, stamps, and brightly colored doodles, and you turned it about in your hands before splitting it open with a finger.

Inside was a similarly decorated piece of paper with big, blocky red writing inscribed on it.

 

YOU’RE INVITED!

WHERE? PAPYRUS AND SAN’S HOUSE!

WHAT? A MOVIE WATCHING PARTY!

WHEN? UM ANY TIME IS FINE REALLY BUT I WAS THINKING WE COULD GO RIGHT AFTER YOU TRIED MY SPAGHETTI IF THAT’S ALRIGHT I UNDERSTAND IF YOU’D LIKE TO SLEEP SOME MORE

WHY? TO HAVE FUN! AND WATCH MOVIES! ALSO MY BROTHER WOULD LIKE TO MEET YOU!

 

Your gaze flicked over this, taking in the cacophony of color, and, after a few moments, you slipped the letter back into the envelope and tucked it into the band of your pants for safe keeping. “Okay,” you said.

“IS THAT ACCEPTANCE? YOU WOULD LIKE TO WATCH MOVIES WITH ME?”

“Yes." You scooted the picked over spaghetti away from you.

“HURRAH! WHAT A JUBILANT DAY!” Papyrus picked himself up with a hearty noise of excitement, and then offered a hand down to you to help you stand. “WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE CARRIED?”

After a moment of thought, you took his hand and decided that you would. The darkness of night’s horrors had never seemed farther away.


	5. You May Lack a Sense of Humor, But That's Alright - It's Already Been Paid Forward in Full

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You eat some good food and have some bad laughs, except -- you don't actually know how to laugh, really, so you're just happy on the inside.

It was a nice house, you supposed, although you weren't exactly the best judge of those matters. Regardless, it’s character wasn’t entirely unpleasant to you, which was probably the best compliment you could bestow upon it. Its siding was bright and red, its shingles were dark and sloped, and it still bore a motley assortment of Christmas decorations - including a pretty little wreath hanging on the door that you immediately knew was fake. Otherwise, nothing struck you too terribly about it, other than the ornamental shrub in the front lawn trimmed in the shape of Papyrus’ face.

But you’d expected something like that, so you weren’t surprised.

He kept you on his back as he stepped up into the shade of the porch, and you looked around in faint curiosity, noting the wicker chairs and table arranged in a small circle off to the side. That was something people liked to do in summer, wasn’t it? Sit on the deck at night and drink strangely colored liquids out of glasses?

“SANS!” Papyrus exclaimed, throwing open the front door and ducking inside, very careful to not smash you on the frame. “I BROUGHT THE HUMAN!”

The interior decorating screamed “Papyrus!” in bright, bold letters and a particularly eye catching font. There were bookshelves of figurines and DVDs, there was a flame decal bordering the door to the kitchen, and the walls were lined with framed photographs of smiling humans and monsters. Underneath them seemed to be some sort of… track that was attached to the wall, which looped and turned in vaguely inconceivable ways. It took you awhile to realize it was something children used for toy cars.

In front of you, another skeleton leaned over the slightly battered acid green couch, his chin on his arms and mouth pulled into an easy grin. “huh, you did? i don’t see any humans.”

“WHAT!! SHE’S RIGHT HERE!” He replied in utter indignation, pointing at you slumped partially over his shoulder.

“nope, still not seein' one.”

“LOOK CLOSER!” Papyrus turned, presenting his back, or -- more specifically - you clinging onto his back - and then stepped away from the door, shoving your body towards him.

You felt a bony finger poke into your spine. “all i see is some weirdo in a mask.”

“UGH!!! SANS!!! DON'T CALL MY FRIEND A WEIRDO!!”

To be honest, you were kind of tired of having to keep yourself upright, so after glancing behind you, you just kind of… slid backwards onto the couch, your torso paffing lightly on the cushions and your knees draping over the top edge. As you let yourself sink down, though, you heard a strange, baffling  _ptbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb_  noise fill the room.

You stared at the ceiling, the sound fading into the air. Then.  
  
“SANS!!!!” Papyrus shrieked, waving his hands about wildly.

“what is it, bro?”

“I KNOW YOU DID THAT!!”

“did what?”

“YOU MADE THAT AWFUL, CRASS NOISE!!”

“pap,” Sans said seriously. You turned your head slightly so you were looking at him instead of the ceiling. “i don’t know if you knew this, but i’m a skeleton.”

“OF COURSE I KNOW THAT, SANS!!! I KNOW THAT BECAUSE I AM A SKELETON, AND WE ARE BROTHERS!! WHICH MEANS, LOGICALLY, THAT YOU ARE ALSO A SKELETON!!!”

“okay. i’m probably going to blow your mind with this, but… skeletons can’t fart, pap.”

“THAT’S NOT WHAT I’M ACCUSING YOU OF!” Papyrus stomped over around the side of the couch. Carefully - and with some clear consideration of you - he reached under your back, rooting around for something. You lay there, somewhat confused by the whole affair, as he shoved a strange, flat disc made of pink rubber at Sans. “I’M ACCUSING YOU OF USING THIS TO HUMILIATE MY NEW FRIEND!”

“i dunno what you mean. what do you think i did?”

“YOU USED THIS WHOOPEE CUSHION TO PULL ONE OF YOUR DASTARDLY PRANKS ON CRANE!”

You wiggled your toes a bit, shifting your attention back to Sans like this was a ping-pong match.

“sorry, i still don’t really get it. maybe if you showed me?”

“ALRIGHT! YOU FILLED THIS WITH AIR!” Papyrus puffed himself up, putting his mouth on the end of the strange “whoopee cushion” and inflating it. For a moment, you tried to ponder how that actually worked, and then quickly decided, that, you know what? That was far too exhausting of a topic for you to dwell on. “THEN YOU PUT IT ON THE COUCH, SO WHEN CRANE SAT ON IT, IT MADE THIS NOISE!” With a mighty motion, Papyrus squashed it between his gloved hands.

_Ptbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb._

The room was silent.

“wow, nice one, bro.”

“AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” To express his deep, uncontainable irritation, Papyrus threw the whoopee cushion at Sans. Being too lazy to move out of the way, it splatted on his face, the rubber mouth hanging over that eternal grin. “AT LEAST INTRODUCE YOURSELF PROPERLY!”

“alright, alright. hey,” Sans looked at you, holding out his hand. The strange, pink noisemaker was still hanging on his face. “i’m sans. sans the skeleton.”

“I’m Crane,” you replied, deciding to follow his format as you reached out to take it. “Crane the --”

You felt something squish on your glove. _Ptbbbbb._

“man, that’s _always_ funny.”

“SANS!” Papyrus wailed, bringing his hands to his head. “YOU’RE RUINING _EVERYTHING!!!_ NOW SHE’S GOING TO THINK THIS IS A DEN OF REPROBATES AND VILLAINS! WE’RE RUINED, SANS!!”

“Um,” you interjected, still holding on to the shorter skeleton’s hand. “I’m a little confused.”

“‘bout what?”

“About that sound. Is it offensive?”

There was a pause from both brothers. Then. “well, most people think so, yeah. it’s the sound a fart makes.”

“Oh. Okay.” You scrunched your nose in thought. “Wait, I still don’t understand.”

“well, there are some people - like me - who think farts are basically the funniest thing ever,” He finally released your hand, using it to gesture at Papyrus. “and then there are people like pap here who hate fun.”

“I DO NOT HATE ‘FUN’, SANS! THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS THE LEADING EXPERT ON FUN! I SIMPLY HATE CRASS HUMOR AND TERRIBLE PUNS!!”

“i dunno, bro, i also know a lot about Fun. you might have some competition, there.”

You hummed to yourself softly. “So, it was a joke?”

“yeah, that’s the long ‘n short of it.” For some reason, he gestured to Papyrus and then himself while saying that, winking after he was done.

“Oh. I’m sorry. Was I supposed to laugh? I’m not very good at jokes.”

“ehh, it’s okay, don’t sweat it. maybe your humours just aren’t balanced, or somethin’.”

“SAAAAAAAAANS!”

You looked between them both and turned your attention to the ceiling, as if it would somehow alleviate your confusion. “Um, humours don’t really exist. Wizards are the only people who take them seriously, and even that's solely in a metaphysical context.”

“i, uh, was makin’ another joke there, bucko.” He winked a again. “imbalance of humours… you can also say that a funny thing is ‘humorous’... get it?”

“Oh.” You looked between them. Sans was still smiling, and Papyrus had an expression of absolutely delighted wonder on his face. “I think I get it, now. Sorry.”

“nah, don’t sweat it, it’s --”

Suddenly, Papyrus reached out, bending over you and scooping you into his arm with an exaggerated motion. “YOU’RE PERFECT!!” he exclaimed, radiating sheer, overwhelming delight, spinning you and holding you up so he could look at your face. Well, what he could see of it, at any rate. “YOU’RE ABSOLUTELY PERFECT!!!”

“Oh,” you said quietly, stunned by all of this. “Um. Why?”

“YOU’RE IMMUNE TO SANS’ AWFUL JOKES! I MEAN, THAT’S NOT THE ONLY REASON, BUT IT’S STILL A VERY GOOD ONE!”

“Oh. Um.” This entire affair was making you feel something very, very strange. Was this… embarrassment? Shyness? Something else? There was something you kind of liked about the way Papyrus was looking at you right now, though. “Um. Are you certain? I’ve been told it’s an off-putting trait.”

“IT’S PERFECT! YOU’RE PERFECT EXACTLY THE WAY YOU ARE, AND DON’T LET ANYONE TELL YOU OTHERWISE!” He spun you around again, laughing in absolute delight.

“Um. Thank you.” You put your hands over your heart, really not understanding this feeling pounding in your chest. It made you dizzy -- or, actually, maybe that was just because of the circles.

“I’M GOING TO GET SOME SNACKS FROM THE KITCHEN, THEN WE CAN WATCH THE MOVIE! WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO DRINK, CRANE?”

You decided to go with the one thing you knew you enjoyed. “Water.”

“NYEH-HEH-HEH! VERY WELL! I SHALL PROVIDE ONLY THE PUREST, CLEANEST, MOST REFRESHING WATER FOR YOU!” Gently, very gently, he set you back down on the couch, placing you upright next to Sans. “I WILL BE RIGHT BACK! TREAT HER NICELY, SANS!”

“got it.”

Folding your hands on your lap, you oozed backwards, letting yourself flop into a more relaxed person. “It’s nice to meet you,” you said politely, looking over at the profoundly comfortable looking skeleton.

“likewise. heard a lot about you.” Finally, Sans picked the whoopee cushion off of his face and dropped it next to him.

“So have I. I’m sorry I didn’t laugh at your jokes. I’m sure they were very nice.”

“nah, seriously, don’t sweat it.” He lounged, looking over at you with his cheek propped on a bony hand. “so, my brother’s pretty cool, huh?”

“Yes,” you answered without any hesitation at all. “Your brother is extremely cool.”

Sans’ smile widened, and you knew this was a _different_ expression, a more genuine one. “what’s you’re favorite thing about him?”

You thought for a long moment, then said, simply and plainly, “How he makes me feel like its worth it to get up in the morning.”

His expression froze as he sized you up for a moment. The atmosphere seemed briefly... tense, and then suddenly, Sans chuckled and said, “yeah, that’s my favorite thing about him, too.”

There was a singular spark of camaraderie between the two of you in that instant - you knew that _he_ knew, and he knew that _you_ knew, and all you both wanted was to watch Papyrus get very, very excited about human cinema. There was companionable silence between the two of you as you lounged about, listening to the odd crashes and bangs emerging from the kitchen as you awaited him.

Eventually, the tall skeleton emerged, bearing an armful of mostly foreign food. Chips, you distantly remembered hearing them called, and… cheetas? Primarily ignorable, so you didn’t mind it at all when Papyrus set most of the bags and bowls right by Sans. However, he did place something in your lap with a particularly pleased smile.

Looking down, you were confronted by a glass bowl filled to the absolute brim with various kinds of berries. Blueberries, blackberries, raspberries, cut strawberries… Immediately, you thrust your hand into the mix, staining your glove with multi-colored juice as you smooshed as many as you could into your mouth.

“wow, i guess she was un-berry-ably hungry,” Sans commented, then began picking among the assortment for something to shove into his own maw.

Sans’ pun went uncommented on - you completely failed to notice it, and Papyrus was far too focused on dabbing some of the juice away from your mouth. “I KNEW YOU WERE GOING TO DO THAT, SO I BROUGHT A SMALL TOWEL! ALSO, HERE IS YOUR WATER!”

You left sticky, purple imprints on the glass as you took it. “Thank’oo,” you mumbled, finishing off your inordinate consumption with a small drink.

“NYEH-HEH-HEH!” Papyrus fiddled with the television, doing some sort of obtuse technological wizardry to it that involved shoving strange discs into whirring boxes and pushing buttons, and then plopped down between the pair of you as images flickered to life on the shiny screen.

Papyrus and Sans taught you a lot of things about watching movies that day, which was very good because you’d never watched one in your life. After you’d said that, Papyrus had exclaimed in despair that, if he’d known, he would have picked something more suitable for the occasion.

Sans had replied that _Ferris Bueller’s Day Off_ was an excellent first-ever movie choice, which Papyrus disagreed on vehemently... but the argument was cut short by an irregular flickering on the screen. They also taught you how to fix televisions with brute force and aggressive button-pushing, which was often necessary because you were a wizard _,_ and the world couldn’t quite stand the image of you, an _oracle,_ watching _movies_ like you were _normal._

You apologized for it, and they repeatedly said they didn’t mind - even laughing when the static and the distorted images turned some scenes bizarre and surreal.

They also instructed you on the proper methodology of shouting and throwing popcorn, which you didn’t quite understand, but had a lot of time to practice when the next film was about a giant lizard destroying a city called Tokyo. Though there were a lot of jokes you didn’t understand (which they explained) and a lot of things you didn’t recognize (which they taught you about), you never once felt like you didn’t belong.

And that was strange. And new. And…

...Nice.

You hoped Papyrus would invite you over again, someday.

(Knowing him, you were certain he would.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe i wrote four pages of fart jokes.


	6. In Which You Learn that Comets Know the True Meaning of Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Undyne gets a bit... overenthusiastic in making her ship canon.

Meeting Undyne was an… experience.

Yes, you thought, looking at the distant grass flying by below you. You would call this an _experience._

It’d started innocuously enough. Yesterday, Papyrus had asked you if it was alright if he brought his friends by for a day at the park. He wanted you to meet them, you see, but some of them - er,  actually, more like one in particular - had a very… _big personality_ , and he thought introductions might go better if you were on your home territory.

To be honest, you were a little puzzled by the strange consideration. The park was a public place, after all; he could bring whoever he liked with him. In fact, you only considered one tree in particular to be _yours,_ and even that was a claim made solely based on affection and convenience. It was something that could easily be taken from you by the whimsicality of man - although, should a slight occur, the Primus would surely fight for your rights, however imagined they might be.

Still, as it seemed to mean something to him, you granted your blessing, and the next day, you met them. Frisk, Toriel, Alphys, and… Undyne.

As had become a custom, as soon as Papyrus saw you sitting there propped up against your tree, he raced forward, heaving you up and swinging you around in a jovial circle. “HELLO, CRANE!” he laughed, voice bubbly, and you looked down at him in a bit of a daze. The birds softly tittered and chirped from the branches; much like you, they’d gotten used to the exuberant man.

“Hello, Papyrus.” You tapped his forehead softly with a single gloved finger. “How are you, today?”

“WONDERFUL!” He laughed at you, doing another twirl with you in his arms. “MY FRIENDS ARE HERE TO MEET YOU! WE BROUGHT A PICNIC!”

You blinked, slightly, trying to clear the dizziness from your head, and you looked over across the grass. “Oh… that sounds nice,” you replied, tilting your head as you took in the approaching crowd. You picked out Sans near the back, and then tried to assign names to the foreign faces.

Your immediate impressions of them were fairly mild -- or rather, they seemed like exactly what you’d expect for Papyrus’ friends. Toriel, Queen of the Monsters, smiled at you with the gentleness of the flowers in spring, while her quiet, autumnal child hefted a huge picnic basket and took in your appearance from near her side. Immediately, you could tell that Alphys required some special consideration, because - despite her smile and seemingly friendly wave- there was a certain kind of timidity to her, much like a rabbit burrowing into the safety of the snow. And Undyne --

Undyne carried with her the intensity of the summer sun, her blazing heart fierce and unconquerable. In fact, she greeted you first, her buoyant voice echoing throughout the park as she raced to catch up with Papyrus. “HEEEEEEEEEY! This is her? Hi, I’m Undyne!”

“Hello.” Given that Papyrus was carrying you, you were about level with the tall woman’s face - and all of her pointy, large _teeth._ “I am called Crane.”

She grinned, crossing her arms. “Papyrus here has told us a lot about you. You can tell the future, or something?”

“Sort of. You’d have to feed me first, though.”

Undyne laughed, and it was at this point that the others caught up to her, the small, lizard-like woman panting in particular from the exertion. “H-Hi, it’s, um, nice to meet you! I’m Alphys,” she introduced herself, instinctively reaching up to shake your hand.

Except... you couldn’t reach far enough down to take it, because Papyrus was holding you.

After a second of hesitation, she realized the gravity of her mistake, and you could clearly see embarrassment of a potential faux pas began to claim her. So -- to save the situation, you decided to do the only reasonable thing you could think of, and before she could retract her hand and stutter an apology, you leaned backwards, hooking your knees around Papyrus’ arm as you dangled in front of her. With a soft plop, your hat fell to the grass, and you offered Alphys your palm to complete the ritual of namesharing. “Hello. I’m called Crane.”

After pausing a moment in shock, Alphys reached out and clasped your hand between her clawed digits. “Um. I. Hi! Wait, I already said that, um -- “

At this point, Undyne burst out laughing, clutching at her stomach in desperation. “H-holy shit,” she wheezed, staring at you. “You were right; she _is_ a treat.”

“Um. A treat?” You used your other hand to keep your mask secure on your face as you hung there. Papyrus seemed to be doing a pretty good job of keeping you steady, despite the shock you had given him. “Like… a dog biscuit?”

“YES! LIKE A DOG BISCUIT. UNDYNE LOVES DOG BISCUITS!” You heard Papyrus boom above you. “WHICH MEANS YOU’VE ALREADY GAINED A FRIENDSHIP LEVEL! THIS IS SO EXCITING.”

Undyne snorted and, now that your mission had been successfully completed, you started looking for a way down. The most obvious answer seemed to be falling, so that’s what you did, pulling your legs up and slipping off of Papyrus’ arm.

You regretted doing so almost immediately, since you hadn’t really been able to control your fall and ended up hitting the ground at an… inadvisable angle.

“AHH! CRANE, ARE YOU ALRIGHT? I’M SORRY!”

“I’m fine,” you replied, adjusting your mask and reclaiming your hat, plopping it back on your head as you sat up. Your back was a little sore, now, but that was fine - and you had other things to focus on. You found yourself in the middle of a circle of faces, now -- and, standing, you held your hand out for Toriel, repeating the same line you’d offered to everyone else.

The final introductions went according to common procedure, although you noticed something odd in the way the child - Frisk - looked at you. Or - no, not quite that, it wasn’t a matter that involved their gaze. It was their demeanor, which was slightly hesitant, bordering on _wary_ , even. They masked it well, hiding it beneath a bright, cheerful smile, that wasn’t _fake,_ per se, simply…

Only a reflection of the surface.

It puzzled you, although you didn’t have the opportunity to think much of it because, apparently, it was Undyne’s turn to pick you up.

“Woah! You’re right, Pap! She’s crazy light!” Undyne exclaimed as she put her hands underneath your arms and lifted you off your feet. You dangled there, blinking idly as she lifted you up and down like she was testing your weight. “Like -- what the heck, I do curls with weights heavier than you!”

“UM, UNDYNE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Papyrus asked, his smile turning incredibly anxious.

“I was just curious!” She looked up at you, her smile wide and eye gleaming. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not really,” you replied, staring down at her. “It’s fine.”

“See! She doesn’t mind.” Still keeping you aloft, Undyne spun around a bit, mimicking the way Papyrus twirled you, although, he gave you a bit more of a perch to sit on so it wasn’t quite so… precarious. “Hey, this _is_ pretty fun.”

“...How much has Papyrus talked about me?” You asked, curious about the well of information she seemed to have about you.

“Oh, tons! He always talks about you, especially about your dates!”

“...Dates?” You asked, but were drowned out by Papyrus’ raised voice.

“FRIEND-DATES! AS IN, BETWEEN FRIENDS, UNDYNE! BECAUSE WE ARE SUPER-FRIENDLY FRIENDS!! WHO SHARE NOTHING BUT FRIENDSHIP!! YOU SHOULD PUT HER DOWN, NOW.”

Undyne grinned, dancing away from Papyrus -- with you still in tow. “She said it was okay! Besides, why should I? This is fun!”

“U-Um, Undyne,” Alphys began, holding out a hand to try to placate her devil of a girlfriend. “M-Maybe you should… umm..”

Toriel chided, in a particularly motherly tone, “Perhaps you should set her down before you drop her.”

During this entire exchange, Sans stood near the back, hands in his pockets and doing absolutely nothing to help.

You were quickly becoming very confused, but you didn’t feel like bothering to try to change your situation, so you simply hung there as Papyrus reached out to try to snatch you back and as Undyne took another hop backwards. “I won’t drop her!”

“YES YOU WILL! AND THEN SHE WILL BE HURT, AND OUR NICE DAY WILL BE RUINED!”

“You mean,” Undyne swung you out of Papyrus’ reach. “Your nice date!”

“DON’T CALL IT A DATE! YOU’LL MAKE CRANE FEEL STRANGE!” There was a particularly emphatic gesture from Papyrus as he leapt for you. “YOU PROMISED ME YOU WOULDN’T DO THIS!!”

“What’s wrong with calling it a date? Weren’t you _just_ saying that she’s sweet, and cute, and the _extra-special coolest?_ ”

“Undyne, really, now! Put her down!” Toriel was rolling up her sleeves, now, coming in to intervene.

Papyrus was still trying in vain to save you from the fish-woman’s grip. “WE’VE TALKED ABOUT THIS!! SHE NEEDS FRIENDS, NOT A DATE!!!”

Undyne grinned, clearly not about to stop her teasing for anything. “Why don’t we ask her! Hey, Crane, you wanna go on a date with Papyrus?”

Finally, there was a moment of silence for you to interject. Staring straight down the beak of your mask, you said, “I wouldn’t mind that."

Everyone just sort of… stopped. “What?” Undyne asked, blinking up at you. (Was it still called blinking if the person only had one eye? Would that be winking, instead?)

Lightly, you tilted your head, displaying your avian confusion. “I like fruit. Why wouldn’t I want to go eat dates?”

There was a moment where you were just… stared at, and then Undyne began laughing again, great, breathless wheezes as she twirled you mightily. “Oh my god, oh my god, I swear, you’re like some _cute anime girl_ \--- “

And then, Undyne stopped, because she realized that she wasn’t actually holding onto you. In fact, she had let go of you mid swing, and you were - much like a comet - arcing through the at an extremely high speed.  The ground passed beneath you in a blurry, green sprawl, and you heard a motley of excited exclamations as some of the children noticed what was happening.

“CRAAAAAAAANE!” You heard Papyrus shout, and you did your best to tuck your head between your knees, vainly trying to protect your head before you splattered against the ground. Except --

...You heard a mighty clattering of bones, and then, suddenly, red completely filled your vision as someone pulled you in close, tightening their arms around you and placing themselves between you and the ground.

The collision still hurt - a mighty, ringing impact that knocked the wind out of you, but you hadn’t been battered and banged around as much as you could have. You’d bruise, certainly, but nothing felt broken, or smashed, or bashed to pieces. Your eyes snapped open, gloved fingers going for your mask, which was - surprisingly - still intact.

Still dizzy, you couldn't really orient yourself, and you wriggled a bit, trying to figure out what, exactly, had happened. Someone shifted you, then, and Papyrus’ face entered your vision, framed by the cloudy blue sky as he sat up and pulled you into his lap. Quickly, he started prodding at you, checking you for injuries. “CRANE, ARE YOU ALRIGHT? I’M SO SORRY ABOUT ALL THIS! UNDYNE’S A REALLY GOOD PERSON; SHE WAS JUST REALLY EXCITED TO MEET YOU AND GOT CARRIED AWAY! I -- “

He paused, suddenly, staring down at you.

Sometime during the ordeal, your hood had slipped off, allowing your hair to spill out over your shoulders. White and soft as dandelion fluff, it was a very particular, very strange shade to see on a human as young as yourself. Like bones, like the moon, it was bright and completely devoid of any coloration. Slowly and carefully, he reached out, twirling his finger around the downy white strands. 

"Thank you," you murmured. "That was very heroic." And - with that- he saw something even more striking in its rarity.

"You're smiling," he breathed out quietly, staring down at you.

You paused, bringing your fingertips up to your mouth. "I am?"

"Yes, it's -- I've never -- " his cheeks turned a strange hue of orange. "Er, um. Did you get hurt?"

"Not much. Are you alright?”

He coughed, suddenly, and then raised his voice. “YES! I AM WELL! VERY WELL! ER, WE SHOULD HAVE DOCTOR ALPHYS TAKE A LOOK AT YOU!” Suddenly, he shifted you, lifting you up. As he stood, you saw clumps of dirt and grass fall away from his chest-plate and his boots. There was a severe indentation in the ground; Undyne was certainly _very strong._

“Crane!” You heard Alphys call out, and you looked over at her as she ran as quickly as her short little legs could carry her. “Are you hurt?”

Behind her, in the distance, you could see Toriel with one hand on her hips, the other waving about emphatically as she lectured a very cowed Undyne. You could see Sans watching the three of you, one of his hands out of his pockets and hanging at his side. Next to him, Frisk was laughing helplessly, and for some reason, you were really glad to see them happy.

“I’m alright,” you replied, looking down at her. She had your hat in her hands - she must have picked it up on the way. “I think Papyrus took the worst of it.”

“That’s a r-relief,” Alphys said, rubbing at her face with a hand. Then, she stared up at you, her mouth pursed into a little ‘o’. “Y-Your hair…”

You raised a hand to your head, realizing that what she meant, and with a quick, flick of a motion, you reached back, pulling up your hood and hiding your strangely-colored hair beneath it. Clearly realizing that meant it wasn’t something to be acknowledged, Alphys smiled awkwardly, holding your hat up. Papyrus knelt down, a bit, and you took it, pulling it onto your head with a firm motion. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Alphys replied, trying to contain her nervousness - but it was clearly difficult, after what had happened. “Um, U-Undyne is, er, she’s very sorry for… accidentally throwing you…”

“It’s fine, I didn't mind it," you said, and a certain realization struck you as you said that. It hadn't just been fine. It was  _fun._ You'd had  _fun._

Clearly, she wasn’t sure what to say to that. “W-Well, um! You certainly looked pretty, uh, cool! With your cape! You looked like a bird.”

It was then that you realized why you’d liked the experience so much. Being thrown through the air, the wind rippling across your body and the ground passing beneath you… made you feel like you were flying.

Undyne had given you the chance to fly, albeit briefly, and you fell silent, your gaze turning down in thought as you held that revelation in your heart. Was that why you'd been... smiling? (Had you ever smiled, before? Papyrus was the first to mention it to you...)

“WELL, LET’S LET THEM KNOW YOU’RE OKAY!” Papyrus announced, carrying you back to the gathering. Toriel seemed to have calmed herself a bit now, no longer lecturing the Royal Guard. Instead, she was simply giving her a particularly stern look.

“I’m sorry!” Undyne exclaimed, as soon as you were in earshot. “I didn’t mean to throw her! Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said, for what felt like the millionth time. "You don't have to worry."

“I’m still sorry! And I’m sorry for teasing you both! And -- “

You held up a red-gloved hand, shaking your head softly. “I had fun.”

Again, everyone’s gaze was on you. “Fun?” Undyne asked, eyebrow going up.

Slightly, you nodded, wrapping your arm around Papyrus’ shoulder so you could sit up a little more. “I felt like I was flying. It was fun.”

“WELL, in that case!” Undyne immediately resumed her earlier good humor, crossing her arms and grinning. “I can throw you again! And Papyrus can run after you and catch you! It’ll be like fetch!”

“WE ARE NOT PLAYING FETCH WITH CRANE!” Papyrus exclaimed, concern immediately overtaking his features.

“Fine, it can be training!! You ran faster than I’ve ever seen you run before! It was kind of incredible, actually!”

“WE’RE NOT TRAINING WITH CRANE!!”

Mentally disengaging from the conversation, you touched the corner of your mouth with a single finger. Smiling...

It was… a really strange feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> l o l how do you write group scenes fml
> 
> i hope you people appreciate that the mood whiplash from these two fics is incredibly surreal
> 
> (i can't believe i wrote an entire chapter where the joke is undyne slam dunks crane)


	7. On Windows, Mirrors, and the Properties of Glass

It was pouring, and you didn’t feel like getting up.

No one was in the park today; humanity always cloistered itself away when the sky opened its heart, after all. The birds and the beasts, too - they hid in the trees, hid in their dens, and it was just you out here in the middle of sodden, glistening grass, in clothing so far beyond drenched that you didn’t even bother to find a word for your state.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t find shelter - it was around, it was available, but… apathy kept you there, apathy and an innate understanding of your place in this world.

You stared up at the grey swath of sky encompassing the entirety of your vision, and sometimes, with a cool kind of distance, you found yourself hard-pressed to remember what things used to be like. It made you unable to mourn, unable to really… feel sorrow, because how could you miss something you couldn’t quite remember clearly?

Nostalgia… for a feeling more than a coherent memory. Like waking up from a wonderful dream, and being confronted with the dreary world around you…

That was the feeling that pervaded your entire life.

With a small motion, you pressed your red fingers against your mouth. Sleeping was like smiling, you realized suddenly. When you stopped, it was like the world fell away in little pieces, leaving you there, small and alone. But - unlike dreaming - you couldn’t smile all the time.

It was strange, and complicated, and confusing, and you didn’t really know how to bear it, so -- you closed your eyes and tried to drift off. You didn’t expect Papyrus to visit you, today, not on a day like this - and, with no one else around, you had no duties to anyone.

As long as you could keep dreaming, you could forget what all this was like.

You heard it, then - heavy boots thudding against the mud and a wet, sloshing sound that drew your attention. “CRANE!” Came a very familiar shout, but the tone was off, sounding panicked in the damp air. You tilted your head towards him, not enjoying the nervous slant to his voice.

He dropped to his knees by your side, and you felt the rain abate suddenly -- he was holding an umbrella over you, wide and red-brimmed, and it encompassed your entire world -- just like him. You shifted, looking up at the difficult expression where his smiling face should be. Did you do something wrong?

...Normally, he was happy to see you…

“Hello, Great Papyrus,” you greeted him in your usual soft tone. “How are you today?”

“I -- “ He choked out, his voice puzzlingly quiet. “I’m sorry. I should have come sooner.”

You blinked at him, the pittering of big, fat droplets filling the silence. After a few moments of him holding the umbrella over you, his gloved hands tight on the handle, you said bluntly, “I don’t understand.”

That seemed to hurt him even more, and you felt something lance through your chest at the way he bowed his head at that. You weren’t quite certain what to think - you didn’t usually say the wrong thing like that, you never, ever intended to hurt with your words. So, in a gesture of apology, you reached up, pressing your fingertips to the side of his face. He flinched as the wetness marked his bone, and you were about to pull away when he snatched up your hand, enveloping it in his grasp.

He didn’t look at you as you stared at him - and then, suddenly, he squeezed your fingers before letting them drop. “Let’s get you someplace dry.”

With that, he set the handle of his umbrella against his shoulder and eased you up into his arms, resting your head against the smooth curve of his armor. “Papyrus?” you said softly, questioningly, and he looked at you, turning his mouth up into a slightly strained smile.

“IT’LL BE OKAY, CRANE!” With that bold statement, he began to stand -- and you reached out, taking the handle of the umbrella to keep it steady as it wobbled. He laughed slightly as you kept the red plastic handle balanced on your chest, the waterproof canopy enveloping the both of you like the head of a mushroom. He repeated it again, more quietly this time as he looked down at you. “It’ll be okay.”

You were…

Very confused.

Why was Papyrus acting like this? For some reason, his motivations completely eluded your grasp. You were an oracle - you reflected the truth back to those who came seeking your aid…

...In this moment, did you not understand because your own reflection baffled you? You supposed that made sense. The true meaning of your existence was your ultimate blind spot, after all. It was the one thing that you could never comprehend.

He carried you from that empty, drenched place, his footsteps squelching in the mud. He took little glances at you often, that tension in his expression never quite leaving - although it had lessened, overwhelmed by a certain kind of determined cheer. You realized, looking up at him, that he was smiling now for your benefit.

Something twisted in you. “...You don’t have to,” you said, responding to his earlier assertation. “I’m fine. I’m not bothered by the weather.”

His grip on you tightened. “WHY IS THAT?”

“Well…” You rubbed a thumb across the smooth handle between your fingers. “...When you’re asleep, it doesn’t matter what’s happening around you.”

He kept his gaze on the path ahead. “THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that. “...Then you should… know that it’s fine. You don't have to be sorry, nor should you feel any guilt.”

He was silent for a minute, but you knew it was the quiet of someone preparing a speech, or... a story, perhaps, a tale of somehing important. You awaited it patiently.

“One day, my brother gave up,” Papyrus began, the volume of the pittering rain just about level with his voice. “And I didn’t realize it, at first. He was just so amazing… gifted, they called him. Everything was effortless for him - well, okay, except things like cooking. And cleaning. And writing papers for Mrs. Bunhilde’s literature class. (He got scolded about that a lot.) If he liked it, he excelled, and if he didn’t… he didn’t even bother trying. He was that kind of guy.”

Another pause, and he looked down at you briefly. “As a kid… There wasn’t a lot I could do well. I felt like the stupid brother. The disappointing brother, because I wasn’t good at science, I wasn’t good at math, I wasn’t even good at puzzles. I tried. I tried really, really hard, but -- well. It didn’t really work out, for me.”

“I thought Sans had it all, so... when he stopped doing the things he liked - puzzles, reading, going to work… he even wanted to move away from the city! I didn’t understand. It upset me, for the first time, because… it was so easy for him, he didn’t even have to try, why did he stop? All he wanted to do was sleep and make stupid jokes.” He nestled you a bit closer to him, and you tucked the top of your head against his neck. He bumped his forehead against the top of your sopping wet hat before continuing.

“I realized my mistake the day Sans didn’t come home for dinner. A blizzard had come that afternoon, so of course I was worried, and I spent hours looking for him, checking sentry station after sentry station… Tromping through the storm until I looked like a snowman. A Snow-Papyrus, even! Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he added mildly, an audible smile to his tone. “I’m just happy with being a very handsome skeleton.”

"When I finally found Sans, sleeping face-first in the snow, I was pretty mad. I told him how worried sick I was, about how irresponsible he was, and how terrible of a big brother he was -- and when I picked him up, shaking all the snow from his bones, he said,” He cleared his throat, slightly, and then did his best impression of Sans - which was actually shockingly good. “you didn’t have to worry about me, pap, it’s snow problem. i just decided to take a n _ice_ nap.”

Papyrus sighed, like having to say that physically pained him. “Despite his jokes, he was shivering; I could feel the rattling in his bones. He was obviously cold, why hadn't he just... gotten up and come home? And it was then, in that moment, that I realized - that my brother wasn’t a very honest guy. He was hurting, he didn't have the energy to do _anything,_  and I needed to think harder about him and his feelings. My jealousy had blinded me to what he was going through."

“I’ve… never, to this day, figured out what happened to Sans, or why he stopped wanting to try.” For a moment, something prickled on the back of your neck, a sudden feeling of, wait, shouldn’t the reason be obvious? But it was gone, then, and all that remained was a quickly fading tingle behind your eyes. “But… I knew one thing, without question."

“What Sans really needed was a cool dude in his life. A happy, supportive brother who could call him a lazybones and drag him out of bed and get mad at his awful puns. It made him feel normal, again. It let him have fun. I made him tutor me in puzzle-crafting, and, if I do say so myself, I’m quite good at it now!” There was a particularly amused gleam to his voice, then. “...And despite things not being okay, I know I brought him happiness.”

He shifted you, a bit, changing his grip on you so he could look at your face. His expression was exceedingly gentle. “You’re a lot like my brother, Crane. The more I spoke with you, the more I realized that, and - seeing you there, in the rain? It reminded me of how vigilant I need to be. I’m sorry, I should have come for you the moment the weather got bad… because I knew. I know that you'd let yourself get cold, and wet, and you'd think it was fine. I can't let myself get complacent again, like I used to be, because I know you're not okay, and because I want to be here for you, in whatever way I can."

You stared at Papyrus for a long moment, at the warmth and generosity in his smile, and you felt something both stomach-turningly strange and achingly familiar. Guilt. Your fingers tightened on the umbrella, and you squirmed a little in his grip. “Papyrus, you… shouldn’t. I’m - I’m different, Papyrus, this sort of thing is fine for me, truly. To fix me… would be an impossible quest, something only possible in those old stories you like telling me.”

Papyrus scoffed a bit, at that. “I don’t want to fix you, Crane, you’re not a broken object that needs fixing. You’re a person! And…” He paused on the sidewalk, sweeping you into a brief twirl in his arms. “I... don't know what made you give up, either, but I'm absolutely _positive_ that you deserve happiness! And I’ll be here to help you find it.”

You reached up, wet fingers splaying across the bone of his cheek. “Papyrus, you -- I cannot promise you that I’ll ever be truly happy. Your support, your resolve… it might all come to nothing. You shouldn’t devote yourself to me like that… nor should you live just to bring other’s joy. It might all be for naught.”

Even still, his voice reverberated with quiet hope. “Don’t worry, Crane, it’s not about the ending - it’s about the journey! Even if it always hurts for you, I want to be by your side, right now - in sorrow and in happiness - as we live our lives. And… I’ve certainly found a great deal of happiness with you! You’re a lot of fun to be around.” You were absolutely overwhelmed by the unconquerable sincerity in his voice.

What could you say to that? What argument could you make? You weren’t used to this feeling, not in the slightest -- your worth was in your words, after all, what was left of you when you didn’t have those at your disposal?

Looking at him, and his red scarf set against the grey of the world… Only one thing came to mind.

“Thank you, Papyrus, for being my friend.”

He smiled - broad, genuine, without a single lie to it, because that was Papyrus. His brother smiled to hide his pain, but him…

...He smiled to cure his pain, to remind himself that, no matter what, there were beautiful things in this world.

His serious tone fell away, and boisterous energy reclaimed his voice once more. "YOU'RE WELCOME, CRANE! I AM ALSO THANKFUL THAT YOU ARE MY FRIEND! I'M A PRETTY LUCKY GUY."

It was bizarre how he could do that -- look at you like every part of you was worth something. Yet -- yet he never, ever wanted to know his future... for him, your abilities didn't have to justify your personality. They never had to. He never treated you like you were strange, or bizarre, or... like you were an oddity behind a glass wall, disconnected from the world. He didn't think of you like that at all.

A strange, warm feeling filled your chest, and you had to look down at your hands as you fidgeted. "Papyrus, I... Do you..." Fiddle, fiddle. "...If you ever become tired of me, please do not feel guilty, like you have some sort of obligation to me."

Papyrus let out a huff of air - not annoyed or distressed, but vaguely... fond? "IT'S OKAY, CRANE. I'VE LEARNED A LOT ABOUT FRIENDSHIP EVER SINCE COMING TO THE SURFACE. ABOUT HOW PEOPLE GET CLOSE, ABOUT HOW THEY DRIFT APART... THAT'S JUST LIFE. IT'S VERY BUSY! BUT... RIGHT NOW, BEING ABLE TO SPEND TIME WITH YOU, BEING ABLE TO TAKE CARE OF YOU... MAKES ME VERY HAPPY! SO, DON'T WORRY ABOUT THAT, ALRIGHT? IT'S THE PRESENT THAT'S THE MOST IMPORTANT!"

A strange thing to say to someone like you... but to be honest, you found yourself soothed, somewhat, as Papyrus carried you to his home. Your worries were stymied for the moment.

Of course, Papyrus had neglected to mention that he couldn't imagine getting tired of your smile, or that faint aura of happiness that surrounded you when you were content.

 


	8. The Best Kind of Fashion Show

“DO NOT FRET AND DRY YOUR TEARS, FOR THE GREAT PAPYRUS HAS RETURNED!” The proclamation rang out strong and clear, and a chorus of friendly greetings rose up in reply… only to taper out when everyone in the room saw your state.

Or, well, to be more precise, only Sans and Alphys fell into uneasy silence; Undyne made her distress abundantly clear. “Crane?! What happened to you? Did you fall in a lake, or something?” She had herself twisted on the couch, one arm slung over its back as she looked at you, and there was more energy in that expression than in your entire body.

“SHE GOT A BIT… RAINED ON,” Papyrus explained, closing the door with the back of his boot and depositing the umbrella in the nearby stand. “SANS, COULD YOU GO GET A TOWEL?”

“sure, bro,” he said, extracting himself fully from behind the television from where he’d been working. “Alph, you wanna take a break?”

“But we just took a brea-- well, oh, fine.” The short, yellow monster picked herself off the ground, brushing a dust mote off of her leg as she did so. Her attention returned to the conversation, and, somewhat hesitantly she approached, joining Undyne on the couch.

Papyrus hadn’t set you down yet - presumably because you were dripping, and he didn’t want you soaking any of the cushions. After looking between you two, Undyne incredulously asked, “What were you doing, taking a nap, or something?” She stopped in dumb shock at Papyrus’ expression.

“WELL…”

“WHAT??” Undyne leaned forward, dangling precariously over the edge of the couch with only her knees keeping her steady. “Why weren’t you sleeping in your house? Did it burn down, or something?”

“I don’t have a house,” you said plainly, and Undyne gaped at you, revealing all of those very pointy teeth of hers.

“What. How. You don’t -- do you have an apartment?”

“No.

“A -- A hovel? A hut? A -- _where do you sleep?”_

“In the park.” This seemed to fluster Undyne even more - and you noticed that Papyrus was starting to look a little nervous - so you decided to change the topic. “What were you two doing?” You asked Alphys, tilting the tip of your beak towards the television.

“Sans and I were, uh, um…”

“YOU SLEEP IN A PARK? PAPYRUS!!” She gestured at the man holding you. “YOU NEVER TOLD US SHE WAS HOMELESS.”

It was then that Sans returned with a towel - a red one, with a race-car stitched onto one corner - and Papyrus swooped over to him, settling you down on your feet before him. “LET’S DRY YOU OFF!”

“Don’t change the topic! Isn’t there, like -- isn’t the Primus, like, your guys’ _king_ or something? Why the hell is he letting you sleep in a park???”

Papyrus shot her a look as he enveloped your shoulders with the towel, trying to pat some of the dampness away, but you didn’t mind responding. “Oh, he wanted me to live with him. I tried, for a little while. But I knew I couldn’t stay there.”

Undyne deflated a little, but there was an uneasy, suspicious set to her mouth. “...Why not?"

“I saw their future. If I stayed there, he and Legbiter would have started thinking of me as a daughter, and I couldn’t let them be disappointed like that.”

“D-...Disappointed? Why would they be disappointed?” Undyne shifted so she was lounging over the arm of the couch, her attention fully on you.

“Well,” you began, in in your usual, frank tone, “I’m certain that I couldn’t fulfill their expectations. Eventually, there would be something about being a normal human that I wouldn’t be able to understand, making me unable to properly fulfill the role of being a daughter. It would have been cruel to allow them to get too invested.”

You didn’t really understand why Alphys and Undyne wore matching expressions of horror. Wasn’t it something that was obvious? Perhaps they just didn’t know you well enough to realize, yet. And Sans - he was looking at the ground, and there was something particularly off about his smile... more than usual. How odd, it felt like he’d heard this before --

“CRANE,” Papyrus said, the force of his voice not allowing anyone else to interject. “I THINK IT MIGHT BE GOOD IF YOU CHANGED INTO SOMETHING DRY, ALRIGHT?”

You froze underneath his touch, or - no, more at the suggestion, really, your breath catching in your throat as your thoughts slowed to a complete halt. “No,” you firmly replied.

For a moment, he waited - as if giving you a chance to continue - and then he crouched down so he wasn’t towering over you quite so much. “Alright, you don’t have to. Would it be alright if I knew why, though?”

In the background, you could see Sans rounding up Alphys and Undyne with a casual, “hey, you guys still haven’t delivered on those… onerousies you promised, or whatever.”

“ _O-onigiri!_ They’re called _onigiri!_ ” Alphys’ voice contained quiet affront as she was pulled into the kitchen. Your neck prickled with… embarrassment? You think that’s what this feeling was, along with guilt. Always that guilt.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, not able to meet Papyrus’ concerned expression. “I know I’m being strange.”

He put one of his huge, gloved hands on your face, cupping your cheek with his fingers. “You’re not being strange, and even if you were, it would be alright. Do you remember what I told you earlier?”

You nodded a little, thinking of the walk over here. “Yes…”

“It applies to this, too. So, don’t worry about it… okay?”

It was too hard to nod, so - you just leaned into Papyrus’ touch, a little, pressing your cheek against his hand. It was quiet, for a moment, and then he spoke again. “Will you tell me why you don’t want to change into different clothes?”

You struggled with this, for a moment, your toes curling into the carpet. Then, “I like this outfit.”

“What about it do you like?”

“The colors. They’re important.”

“So… if the colors are the same, it’d be alright? What if I got you a white shirt, and -- here, you can put this over your head,” he said, pulling his hand back and taking off his (slightly damp) scarf. “And I have some red hats too, and… My gloves are going to be a bit too big for you, but it’d be something, and maybe you can find some black pants that fit you? I’m not? Sure? Hmn.” A squint, then, “How does that sound? I promise my wardrobe is suitable for the coolest of cool dudes like yourself.”

You considered this deeply. Then. “...Alright.”

He beamed, standing and depositing both his scarf and his gloves in your arms. “WONDERFUL! AND WE CAN PUT YOUR CLOTHES IN THE DRYER! THEY’LL BE ALL NICE AND COZY FOR YOU.” A pause, then, “IS IT ALRIGHT IF SANS SHOWS YOU TO MY ROOM? I’D LIKE TO MAKE SURE THERE IS FOOD IN THE… OREGONO?? THAT YOU WILL ENJOY.”

You almost thought you heard a quiet whisper of _onigiri_ from the kitchen. “That is fine.”

“SPLENDID!” he left your side, approaching the kitchen and leaning the front of his body through the doorway. “I AM IN NEED OF YOUR FASHION EXPERTISE, SANS!”

“sure can do, bro,” he replied, emerging from the kitchen. Now that you were paying attention,  you heard some extremely aggressive chopping emerging from the room, along with the sound of Alphys’ faint pleas. When Sans emerged, he had acquired some new decor - namely, a smattering of some seaweed like plant splattered across his skull. “you ready?”

You nodded slightly, following after him once he’d started moving.

“UNDYNE,” you heard Papyrus call as he entered the kitchen. “DO YOU NEED ANY HELP?”

“No!” There was a sound of clattering metal. “I GOT THIS!!”

“UM, ARE YOU SURE, THAT LOOKS VERY, UM --”

A lizard-like shriek interrupted him. “Undyne, n-n-no!”

A mad cackle, some crashing, and the sound of a … barking dog? “Undyne YEEEES!”

You glanced over the stairway railing, and then returned to following Sans. Huh.

The sounds faded as you were lead through a small library, and, fairly shortly, you arrived at the door to Papyrus’ room. For a moment, you contemplated the signs plastered over the wood of the door - including, but not limited to, (NO GIRLS ALLOWED!) (X-TREME RACING ZONE), (NO BOYS ALLOWED!), (CARIBOU CROSSING), (RACING AREA), and (PAPYRUS ALLOWED!!) You blinked absently, briefly stunned by the amount of information that was being conveyed to you, and next to you, Sans pulled out a black, felt-tipped marker. “here,” he said, adding a word to one of the signs with a faint squeak. “i fixed it for you.”

PAPYRUS (& CRANE) 

ALLOWED

 

You took another look, and then you nodded. “Oh, that’s very helpful. But what about you?”

Sans shrugged. “eh, i’m not very good at obeying posted signage.”

“Fair enough,” was your reply, and with that, Sans opened the door.

The first thing you noticed was the bed shaped like a car - although, it didn’t really look like any vehicle you were used to seeing. You think they’re called… race-cars? It seemed vaguely similar to some packaged toy you’d seen once. Either way, it had the aura of being _fast,_ despite being just a stationary object, so you liked it.

As Sans went to the closet, you took a few moments to wander around. There was a clearly hand-made figure of Papyrus sitting on the table, accompanied by a wide assortment of other posable figurines, and, for a moment, you leaned in to contemplate it. Strange, how this little, lovingly crafted bit of clay had changed your entire life.

The face was a little mushed and sloppy, but you could tell it had been made with care.

You recognized one of the storybooks Papyrus liked reading to you from out of on the shelf - along with a variety of extremely academic material related to puzzles. Most of these books looked old, worn… but there were a couple of newer volumes that stood out, including “The Complete Works of William Shakespeare” and a few novels written by an author names “Jane Austen”.

You felt like you should recognize those names, but you didn’t.

Sans called to you from near the bed. “if you’re done sticking your beak into things, i’ve got some stuff to wear.”

You pulled back immediately, looking over at him. “Oh… did I bump something with my mask?”

He chuckled, softly, turning to you and shaking his head. “nah, was making a joke there. ever heard of being nosey?”

“Oh. I suppose I have, yes.”

“yeah, and you’ve got a beak instead of a nose.” Sans winked, tapping his lack of nose knowingly. “anyway, i’ll get out, so you can change. let me know if anything’s not good.”

He turned to walk out, and you squinted at him. You had the distinct impression that he knew that saying that was entirely unnecessary. Hmn.

Deciding not to think about it anymore, you shrugged, and decided to stick your beak into the clothes that Sans had gotten for you.

Literally. You didn’t bother taking off your mask while you changed.

 

* * *

 

“So, Papyrus,” Undyne said after it was very certain that you were out of earshot, a particular kind of sharpness in her voice. “Who the fuck do I need to kill?”

Papyrus sighed, looking over from the salmon that he was dicing. “UNDYNE, MURDER IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE CONFLICT RESOLUTION TECHNIQUE! I THOUGHT THEY WERE TEACHING YOU THAT IN YOUR ANGER MANAGEMENT CLASSES!”

“Oh, har-de-fucking-har. _Papyrus, who taught her it was okay to think like that?_ ”

“Undyne…” Alphys said softly, tapping a button on the rice cooker. Papyrus had gotten her a stool so she could reach the counter more easily.“...I-I don’t think we should, I mean…”

“I -- just, _Alphys,_ she doesn’t have a _house,_ what does she do in the wintertime? How long have things been like this, for her? Does she bathe? Does she get enough to eat? Is that why -- Oh holy fuck, Papyrus, is that why she’s so _light?”_

Papyrus paused, setting the knife aside. “I DON’T… KNOW,” he said carefully, leaning back against the counter. “NONE OF THE HUMANS THAT VISIT HER SEEM WORRIED ABOUT IT - “

“That doesn’t mean anything, lots of humans are pretty _scummy --_ “

Papyrus held up a hand, indicating he wasn’t quite done yet. “ -- _AND,”_ he stressed, “I DO KNOW THAT THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO LOOK OUT FOR HER. THAT IS _NOT_ TO SAY I’M NOT WORRIED, WHICH IS… PRECISELY WHY I ASKED YOU TWO IF YOU’D BE WILLING TO BE FRIENDS WITH HER.”

“Friends? How will being friends help? She talks about herself like - “ Undyne waved a hand wildly. “Like she sees herself as being… _fundamentally lesser_ than a human, or something!”

Papyrus tapped a finger on the counter. “I KNOW. WHICH IS WHY I WANT HER TO HAVE FRIENDS, SO SHE CAN SEE THAT PEOPLE _LIKE_ BEING AROUND HER. THAT THEY’RE NOT JUST PUTTING UP WITH HER, THAT SHE’S NOT A DISAPPOINTMENT…”

“H-He is right, Undyne, I mean, um…” Alphys let out a difficult little breath. “Um. I mean. You -- you being… friends… with me, really -- really helped. With my, well, everything. And -- I don’t think, if you’d been, well, I don’t want to say _pushy_ but I can’t think of a better word to -... you know what I mean? It wouldn’t have worked.”

Undyne sighed, scooping some of the chopped seaweed into a bowl. “...Yeah. I -- I guess you kinda have to wait for her to open up, I guess, but, shit. It leaves a really bad taste in my mouth. She’s really nice. And, like, I’m pretty sure if someone tried to hurt her she’d just… let them, you know? She seems like that kind of person, and that -- " There was a pause as she looked for a proper term to convey her feelings. “That really _sucks.”_

“I KNOW. I KNOW, AND IF I THOUGHT SOMEONE WAS ACTIVELY HURTING HER, I WOULDN’T BE SO…” He squinted a bit. “PASSIVE. BUT RIGHT NOW, I JUST WANT TO HER TO BE ABLE TO BE COMFORTABLE AROUND ME. IF SHE EVER WANTS TO TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED, I’LL LISTEN, BUT IF NOT, I’LL BE THERE, ANYWAY, HELPING HER SEE THAT THE WORLD IS WORTH BEING AWAKE FOR.”

“...Jeez,” Undyne murmured, watching Papyrus for a moment. “That… sounds really grown up. Wow, I, uh…”

“...UNDYNE!” he peered at her, leaning forward. “ARE YOU CRYING?”

Her hand snapped out, shoving at his face. “No!!! I’M NOT CRYING, YOU’RE CRYING! SHUT UP!”

“NYEH-HEH-HEH! TYPICAL, OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WHOSE WORDS ARE SO SWEET THAT THEY CAN MOVE OTHERS TO TEARS -- “

“NGAHH! I’M NOT CRYING, YOU BIG LUG! I JUST! I GOT SEAWEED IN MY EYE!”

“Oh, Undyne, p-please don’t -- not in the kitchen -- !!”

“hey, everybody,” Sans interrupted, his voice somehow oozing the concept of lounging. “how’s the food coming?”

There was an interrupted chorus of _everything’s fine,_ because, at that moment, everyone saw you standing behind Sans in the doorway. You waved, slightly, then tugged on the overly large glove to keep it on your hand.

There was a moment that could only be encapsulated by a single set of ellipses. Then, leaning in conspiratorially, Undyne said, “Are those your socks?”

“Yes,” Papyrus said, in a thin, little voice.

“...And… that’s your hat?”

“Yes,” Papyrus repeated in a tone that conveyed audible sweating.

“And she’s wearing your _shir--_ ”

Papyrus shoved Undyne’s face away, keeping a very, _very_ firm smile on his face. “CRANE! HOW ARE YOU FEELING? IS IT GOOD TO BE DRY?”

You nodded slightly, extremely puzzled by the way everyone was staring at you. “Yes. Thank you for your consideration. I appreciate it.” Then, “Socks are strange. I’m not sure if I like them.”

“LET’S, UH, IT’S CHILLY, AND YOU’RE PROBABLY STILL A BIT DAMP, SO, LET’S GET A BLANKET FOR YOU!” Papyrus approached you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Okay,” You paused. “You’re acting strangely. Am I not cool enough for your clothes?”

“NO!! NO, NO, NO, YOU’RE DEFINITELY COOL! A BAD ENOUGH DUDE TO SAVE THE PRESIDENT, EVEN!”

“That’s… a good thing? Does the president need saving?”

“YES! YES, IT’S A GOOD THING, ER -- I MEAN -- “ He paused, then ushered you out into the living room. “I’LL TELL YOU ABOUT IT LATER.”

“Well, okay…”

“Someone’s got a clothing kiiiink,” Undyne whispered to Alphys, and Papyrus prayed to whoever was listening that you didn’t hear that.

 

* * *

 

Being at Papyrus’ house was nice, as was wearing his clothes and lounging in his’ lap while you snoozed. (He had acted strangely about this, at first, but you’d said it was no different from being carried, and he had acquiesced.) As you drifted in and out of consciousness, you occasionally caught snippets of the show everyone else was watching, which seemed to be some sort of program with lots of sparkles and drawings that moved. You didn’t understand, and you were particularly confused at how upset Undyne and Alphys seemed that you didn’t know what “anime” was.

They said they wanted to show you some later, and you said okay, but later was not now, because now was naptime. It really had been hard to properly sleep in the rain.

Most of the time, when you surfaced into consciousness, you overheard conversations relating to the activity at hand, namely things like, “Tamaki _no,_ ” and, “Wait, which twin is that, again?” and, “THE TALL ONE AND THE SHORT ONE SHOW TRUE BROTHERLY COMPASSION TOWARDS EACH OTHER!”

But, fairly late in the afternoon, you drifted into consciousness as a fairly muted conversation was going on.

“...We probably shouldn’t h-have messed with the television until _after_ we figured out if she had to be awake or not, huh?”

“ehh. probably not, but hey, c’est la…. whatever. things are working for now.”

“D-Do you… think it has something to do some sort of… targeted electromagnetic pulse?”

“i mean. we’d probably have to actually run trials on her soul to figure that out, and, uh -- “

“That is super duper _not_ happening,” you heard Papyrus quietly say above you.

Alphys sounded sort of upset. “R-r-right, _absolutely_ not! I’d, I’d _never…_ we should never...”

“yeah, no. hey, alph, wanna put in the next dvd? tamaki has got to confess soon.” A pause. “i can feel it in my _bones.”_

Papyrus groaned, but her mood shifted direction, then, and Alphys let out a little giggle. “O-Okay, sure, let me just get the box…”

You stirred, then, yawning and blinking blearily. Papyrus looked down at you, then, smiling as you looked up at him. “WELL, HELLO! DID WE WAKE YOU?”

“No,” you replied, flexing your toes and looking around a little bit. Undyne was watching you from the other side of Alphys, her cheek propped up on her chin, and when she saw you looking she grinned toothily. “Hey, punk. Sleep good?”

“Mhmm.” You shifted a little in the blanket enveloping you - kind of like a… oh, what was the food. A burrito? Truly, you did feel significantly more rested. You’d be ready to work, tonight. “Thank you for the food, by the way, I never said that. Did you want me to tell your future?”

“Tell… my future?” Undyne canted her head, then leaned back to throw her arm around the back of the aggressively green couch.

“Yes. You and Alphys fed me, so if you’d like, I can give you advice on a problem… or tell you something helpful.”

“Oh, right! I forgot about that. Well… okay. Yeah, why not, for a lark. Tell me something helpful.”

You stared at Undyne for a long moment, then yawned once more. “If you fight the toaster, you won’t win.”

“I -- What?” Her eyebrows went way up.

“If you fight the toaster, you won’t win. It’ll go very badly for you. I recommend you don’t do that.”

“...I-Is there… any more context to this?” Alphys asked, clearly worried and perturbed.

“Nope.”

Giggling, Alphys pulled out her phone, her thumbs clicking on the keyboard at a rapid pace. “Oh man, I gotta post that, anddd… done!” She smiled at Undyne, a little, timid expression. “A-and so says the soothsayer… don’t battle the toaster.”

“I’m gonna fight whatever the darn-well-heck I _want,”_ Undyne grumbled, looking back over at the TV. “We ready to rumble?”

“S-sure we are, although… Crane, if you’re watching now… m-maybe we should put something new on, so you aren’t confused?”

“Oh, you don’t have to, I don’t mind.” You oozed, a bit, completely content with not moving for the foreseeable future.

“Actually, hey, Alph -- what about that movie with the… big fat fluffy things? The cute one? With the kids?” Undyne paused. “The one with not enough swords?”

“O-Oh, Totoro? Actually -- actually, that’s a good idea! Let’s watch that -- oh, Sans, is that okay?”

Sans shrugged, grinning. “yeah, sure, just means you owe me. i just _gotta_ know.”

“Oh, well, alright.” You looked back up at Papyrus again. He had the hugest grin you’d ever seen on his face, like watching this had made him incredibly, astoundingly happy.

As the screen flickered to life, and pictures began moving on it… you really started to understand how much you liked it when he looked like that.


	9. Sans is a Bad Influence

“hey,” a voice drawled above you, and you were very, very confused.

At first you thought that maybe, _maybe_ Papyrus had just decided - for some, inexplicable reason - to greet you in his best Sans impression. But, no - red had been swapped for blue, and your gaze had to travel down to meet the casual, smiling face of the older half of the skeleton duo. You blinked uncomprehendingly, and in fact, the situation was so bizarre that you actually sat up, rubbing at your eyes as you blearily stared at the skeleton framed by the gentle blue sky.

“Um,” you said after a pause. “Where’s Papyrus?”

Sans’ smile didn’t let up. “jeez, not even bothering to say hi? i know you like my brother better, but that hurts.”

“Oh. Yes, hello.” You crossed your legs, folding them in a way that you were told was “pretzel style”. You weren’t entirely sure what a pretzel was, so you couldn’t comment. “My apologies if I offended you. You aren’t the type of person who'd visit me, so I thought something bad might have happened to Papyrus.”

You didn’t get the feeling that something had, and none of the birds had told you… but that worry nagged at you nonetheless. (Your intuition was good, after all, but it hurt too much to be perfect.)

“nah, nothin’ bad. he’s just busy with something and demanded i go entertain you.” After offering you a slight shrug, he continued, “so, like… i dunno, wanna go somewhere?”

You stared at him for a long moment. Something about this situation struck you as… off, but, well. Putting in the effort to think about it didn’t appeal to you, and, anyway, you had the feeling it would be better to just go along with it. With an acquiescing nod, you asked, “Where do you wish to go?”

“ehh, you’ll see. first, though, i gotta run some errands, so let’s get those squared away.” After a moment, he offered his hand to you. “got anything to do before we split?”

“No." It was a simple reply - as it often was, with you - and you accepted his help in standing. After glancing briefly at him - namely, at his lack of height - you realized, “I’m going to have to walk, aren’t I?”

At this, Sans gave you a particularly large grin. “actually, i have a solution for that.”

 

* * *

 

You vaguely thought you should be embarrassed by this, but… at least you didn't have to move.

As you followed after Sans, he boasted about the _totally sick ride_ that he had lined up for you - which ended up being something he called a tricycle, all bright cherry-red metal and shiny black wheels. You’d seen things like that before - it was hard not to, since a bike path ran adjacent to your park - but imagining yourself sharing the same space as...  _it_ bordered on impossible. You came from a different world, after all, and learning to ride such strange, wheeled beasts hadn’t been a part of your education.

It was in times like this that you really felt the divide between you and other people.

Sans hadn’t given you time to dwell on such matters, however, because he’d clicked open the lock, clambered on, and then patted the strange platform jutting out from behind his seat. “you sit here. stay still, don’t fall off, etcetera. don’t worry, i’m a safe rider.”

“That looks very precarious,” you commented - but you complied, wiggling yourself until you were comfortable.

“nothing bad will happen, promise. just keep your feet out of the wheels.”

Something about his claims seemed slightly suspect, but you decided to go along with it.

With that, the pair of you set off into the lovely spring day. The pace of Sans' pedaling was lethargic at best, but, somehow, you seemed to clip along at a fairly brisk pace, houses and homes drifting by as you rolled down the street. Upon asking about it, you were told, “oh, yeah, i modded this thing to bits. it moves by itself. neat, huh?”

You scratched your cheek, working your mouth in something like worry. “Isn’t it dangerous for me to be ride it, then? I might break it.”

“naw,” he spared a brief glance back to grin at you. “don’t worry about it.”                 

Somehow, you believed him, and you entrusted yourself to the feeling of movement. The wind rustled your clothes as the world passed you, brightening your eyes and making you sit up just a bit straighter. It was like being submerged in cool water - a refreshing, pure feeling that cleansed the soul and made you feel… awake. "I like this."

Sans chuckled at your absent comment. “yeah, it’s pretty fun. say, you wanna do something cool?”

Without hesitation, you replied, “Sure.”

“okay. lemme get to the place.” Despite not putting an ounce more effort in, Sans sped the tricycle up - probably something to do with those previously mentioned modifications. He turned, going down another street, and then another… And you noticed that the ground was starting to slope upwards. After he made another turn, the pair of you were confronted by the crest of a giant, tree-lined hill that plummeted into another street.

“okay,” he said, now pedaling harder to reach the looming descent. “hold on!”

You had no idea what you were supposed to be holding on to, but he didn’t give you any time to think about it because, a second later, you were going very, _very_ fast, wheels rolling at an obscene speed as gravity grasped you firmly in its unrelenting clutches. Speeding down the hill in a tantalizing drop, metal clanking and wheels humming, you were captured in an exhilarating whirl of blurring greens and grays. Something felt a little strange, though - an odd feeling had gripped your legs, a sort of strange, sticky weight. Looking down, you noticed a faint, blue glow enveloping you - pulsing stronger in the areas where your body made contact with the red metal of the vehicle. Strange.

You didn’t really have time to think about it in the commotion. Sans used your gathered speed to race down the streets, making sharp turns and provoking a decent amount of honking from drivers you wove around. Vaguely, you thought this was a situation you should probably be afraid of, but, well.

It seemed like too much of a bother.

Eventually, Sans slowed, and you weren’t sure if that was his own doing, or if the trike was simply running out of steam. Either way, you eventually came to a stop in a parking lot in an unfamiliar area, and your chauffeur looked back at you, grinning. “have a good time?”

You removed your hands from your hat - (that was what you’d ended up deciding to hold on to) - and replied, “Yes.” It took you a moment to realize that you were smiling again.

“man, you’d probably dig bungee-jumping - although i think Pap would pop a blood vessel if i suggested that.” He laughed, pushing himself off the street and standing.

“What’s bungee-jumping?” As you picked yourself off the makeshift seat, you noticed that the blue glow was gone. Huh.

“basically, you attach yourself to this stretchy cord and throw yourself off of really tall shit. it’s pretty nuts; humans will do basically anything to feel like they’re flying.”

You stood there for a moment, looking over at Sans as he stood and rolled the tricycle over to lock it up on a nearby rack. Something about the way he said that made you feel weird, but, instead of thinking about it, you returned to a prior point in the conversation. “Papyrus doesn’t have any blood; he’s a skeleton. How would he pop a vessel?”

“figure of speech. means he’d flip out.” Sans waved lazily, then continued, “and _that_ means he’d be extremely upset.”

“Oh. Is bungee jumping dangerous?”

“not really. humans are big on safety, otherwise you get sued.”  Sans' slippers clip-clopped as you walked, providing slight punctuation to your conversation.

A pause. “What’s… suing?”

“uhh. it’s when one person gets really mad at another person, and they have a fight in court about it.”

“Oh.” You thought about something you’d seen on television once. “Is it like… sumo wrestling?”

“yeah, you got it.”

Feeling significantly more educated, you followed Sans to a small shop wedged between a nail salon and a shabby looking restaurant. A garishly painted sign hung over the doorway, announcing this as the _Palace of Fun!!!_ \- you assumed the numerous exclamation points were necessary to the title. Still, that didn't really tell you what lurked within. "Um, where are we?"

Sans waggled his lack-of eyebrows at you. “the palace of fun, obviously. you can read, right?”

“Yes.” A pause. “I’m not great at it, though.”

This didn’t seem to surprise him in the least. “if you ever wanted to get better at it, pap would love to help.”

With that, he opened the door, and introduced you to your destination.

A cacophony of recorded laughter announced your presence as you timidly entered the strange and puzzling world before you. Aisles overflowing with colored packaging spread out in every direction, advertising goods like squirting flowers, false teeth, and removable, prank limbs. Near you, by the doorway, sat a bucket filled with lovingly detailed plastic eyes, and a bit farther down was a rack of costume eye-ware. Sans closed the door behind you and took a few steps into the shop, seeming totally at ease among the gags and gadgets spilling out of every corner.

“i’ll be like… ten minutes. feel free to wander around." You didn't have a chance to reply before he set off, walking through the store like he owned the place.

Well. Alright.

The man behind the counter waved at you, and you returned it, saying that, no, you didn’t need any help, thank you, you were just here to browse. (That was what Inquisitor Legbiter had told you to say in situations like this.) 

Everything you saw puzzled you, from the giant erasers to the electric fart-makers. One aisle contained packages of rubber fish so realistic that you had to smell them before you realized they were fake, another had things called _shock palms_ and _cell shocks,_ and all sorts of things with lightning bolts painted on the cardboard containers. Every so often, you caught a glimpse of Sans’ blue jacket flitting through the store as the pile of items in his arms grew increasingly larger, and you couldn’t help but think that he really  _fit_ here.

Something about his smile, the ease of his shoulders... you could tell that he actually felt happy. Relaxed. And -- you couldn’t help but wonder --

...Did places like this exist Underground? When the monsters were bound beneath the surface…

Did Sans have a place like, filled with things he liked?

(For a moment, you tried to imagine what it was like, down there, in a place with neither sun nor sky, and you kind of felt like vomiting. It was so strange - why were you thinking about something like that right now? You really weren’t the type to care about things that didn’t involve you, so - )

Blinking a bit, you turned your head and stuck your hands into a long string of feathers hanging from a hook. They were red and sparkly and you liked them, and they provided ample distraction from the thoughts nagging at the back of your neck.

After about five more minutes, Sans found you with your face buried in the fluttery softness of a winding feather boa. At first, you didn’t even notice him - it was his reverberating chuckle that altered you to his presence, along with his question of, “having fun there, kid?”

You peeked over the wreath of feathers, eyeing him and his manifold potential purchases. “Yes.”

“do you want that?” Tilting his head lightly, he indicated the boa draped around your shoulders.

A pause. Then. “Yes. But I don’t have money, and Papyrus said that taking things without paying for them is called stealing. And it’s bad.”

“well, it’s a good thing i’ve got a real-person job that pays me real-person money, huh? c’mon, let’s go check out.”

“Oh. Um.” You trailed after him, the mantle of feathers fluffing slightly as you walked. “Are you sure it’s alright?”

“yeah. you're papyrus' pal, after all,” he said, smiling at you - and, in that single moment, you were struck by an overpowering feeling of _fakeness._ Which was odd - he had no other reason to treat you so kindly, after all, no reason to spend time with you, explain jokes to you, be patient with your eccentricities - and, especially, no reason to buy you things. It went far beyond mere  _courtesy_   _-_ Sans treated you exactly like he treated his old friends. Yet, he barely knew you, so his explanation -  _it's for Papyrus' sake -_ made perfect sense, and yet...

You knew - in that moment - it was an excuse. A constructed truth. Something he was hiding behind.

For some reason completely and totally beyond Papyrus, Sans treated you with an unusual amount of kindness, and -- watching him ring up his purchases at the counter - you started to care about something beyond the surface. 

 

* * *

 

After that, the day was a hectic scramble of travel, education, and - most importantly - _justice._

Sans had been very insistent on that last term. He was far more than a simple _jester_ , a common _prankster -_ and, while he did indulge in jokes, japes, and all manner of tomfoolery, he also had a higher, nobler cause that he served. For everday - in the complicated sprawl of the over-world - there were injustices committed by various rapscallions with hearts as black and tarnished as burning coal, and it was the job of Heroes of Justice like Sans to _punish them._

With pranks. Lighthearted yet thoroughly annoying _pranks,_ and today’s objective was to bring light to one of the most insidious evils in the world - _terrible parking jobs._

First, though, Sans had to give you some basic instruction. That is, _what is parking, why is it necessary,_ and, most importantly, _how to recognize when someone's bad at it._ By the end of it, you could spot a person in desperate need of shaming five blocks away -- which you demonstrated now, pressing your finger into Sans’ shoulder as your feather boa billowed in the breeze. He glanced back at you briefly, and you pointed, indicating a modest grey sedan that had squeezed _all_ the way up to the car in front of it, making it absolutely impossible for the driver ahead to extract themselves from the line.

A classic example of, as Sans put it, the common assbutt.

“nice spot,” Sans complimented you as the pair of you rolled on up next to the driver’s-side door. “okay. what’ll it be this time?”

“Umm. How about one of the fake tickets? Those are easy.”

“sounds good.” Sans climbed off the tricycle, and you stood up, rolling it around the back of the car and onto the sidewalk. Safety first, after all.

“Hey, Sans,” you called as he rustled around in the bag for the replica parking tickets he’d purchased. “Maybe we should leave them a joke, too?”

“i like your style. what should we say?”

“Ummm.” You paused. “I dunno. How do you think of a joke?”

“that’s…. that’s some heavy shit, pal.” Sans stared at you over the hood of the car with a distant, thoughtful expression. “i dunno where to even begin.”

“Oh… well. Alright -- “ you began, but then Sans waggled his finger in your direction, shushing you.

“nevermind, i got it. okay, so the basic form of humor is a _pun,_ or a play on words, where something is funny because a word has two meanings. example - say, we’re talking about dogs... and like, you’re telling me that my dog sucks.”

“Um, you don’t have a dog.” You tapped your fingers on the hood of the car. “Also, I would never say something mean like that to you.”

Sans tucked the fake parking ticket underneath the windshield wipers. He had to stand on the grill on the front to reach. “yeah, well, suppose you did. suppose you were being real mean about it. if i said, _stop hounding me!_ \- that would be a pun.”

You paused. You looked up at the sky. “I don’t get it," you said after a pause of about fifteen seconds.

“okay, see -- another word for a dog is a _hound_ … and if you say you’re _hounding_ someone, it means you’re harassing them. so, it’s funny because the word has two meanings. get it now?”

After a moment of hesitation, you nodded slightly, propping your elbows up on the car as he explained.

“there’s also understatement - where something is funny cuz what you said doesn’t match reality. like… say, the world is getting blown up, if i said something like, “man, this is a bit of a drag”, it’d be funny because, y’know, i’m underestimating the problem. the clash of reality versus what i'm saying is what makes the joke funny.”

“Um, if the world is blowing up, I don’t think anyone would be in the mood for laughing…” You tilted your head slightly, watching him.

“...yeah, let’s move on. another type of humor is the classic non sequitur. it’s when you say something ridiculous, and it’s funny because it’s unexpected.”

“So… you just… say something that’s unrelated, and it’s funny?”

“yup, basically.”

“Okay, I think I can do that. Sans, why did the chicken cross the road?”

Sans stared at you, and you could feel him vibrate slightly in anticipation. “why?”

You paused, then - completely seriously - you said, “Because your face is a butt.”

“...because - ” he managed, and then -- you watched the absolute collapse of Sans the Skeleton. He was choking, he was hacking, he was wheezing, he was smacking the palm of his hand against the metal roof of the car. " _snerk_ _!”_ he choked, and collapsed into another desperate fit of giggles.

“Um.” You watched this, completely baffled. “That was funny? I didn't say anything hurtful, did I?"

“ _yes,_ it was funny,” he wheezed, gesturing to you vaguely. “crane, there’s only one thing you’ve gotta know in this world - _butts are always funny._ ”

“Oh, alright, I’ll keep that in mind.”

You tilted your head again as Sans devolved again into stupid, bubbling laughter. Eventually, he got a hold of himself, and pulled out a red marker meant to write on glass. “okay, let’s get to work,” he said, heaving himself up onto the top of the car and starting to scribble away.

After a few minutes of squeaking, Sans wrote in imperial, gleaming letters: _your face is literally a giant butt._

There was a helpful picture of a posterior scribbled next to it.

“Give me the green marker?” You asked, and Sans complied without hesitation. You popped off the top and drew smiley faces on each of the cheeks. “There. Now they're happy.”

Sans started gigging again, but was cut off by the sound of a police siren. “uh,” he said, looking down the street and then over at you.

“Um,” you replied, blinking absently and then meeting his gaze.

“...so, you think that guy we pranked a few streets down called the cops on us?” he asked, heaving himself back down onto the sidewalk.

“Probably.” Fidget, fidget. “What should we do?”

“scarper, obviously. c’mon, crane -- to the batmobile.” He threw his leg over the seat, settling his slippers on the pedals as he waited for you.

You perched on your little spot in the back, looking over at him as he sped off. “Um… there aren't any bats around?”

“it's a joke. don’t worry about it.”

 

* * *

 

Eventually - after a thrilling chase - (yes, the cops were apparently after you) - the pair of you ended up in a bar called Grillby’s.

You weren’t really the _bar-going_ crowd, that is to say - you didn’t actually know what a bar was, other than it served alcohol and you weren’t allowed to drink any. After stepping in, you quickly realized that they were naturally dim and smelled somewhat of grease, but luckily instead of navigating you to the counter, Sans plopped himself into one of the booths and settled into the red leather cushions. You sat across from him, looking around at the crowd blearily. "Everyone recognized you when we arrived... do you come here often?"

"yeah, sort of my go-to eatery." He leaned out of the booth, gesturing to the bartender - a sharply dressed man with blossoming fire twisting out of his clothes - indicating something to him non-verbally. You saw a small, almost imperceptible nod, and he turned, walking off into the back. When you returned your attention to the table, you saw a small bag sitting in front of you.

It was filled with raspberries.

Blinking, you looked down at it, and then -- your gaze flicked up, meeting Sans' grin. "there's nothing here you'd like," he explained at your confusion, leaning back into his seat. "too greasy."

A pause. You stared at the collection of bright, red fruit for a moment - and then... Again, it happened again. That humming intuition, that brimming  _feeling,_ telling you that something was strange, was different. An overwhelming feeling consumed you - like you'd known Sans for  _forever._

...And... perhaps you had.

"crane?" he prompted, breaking the silence that had fallen over the table.

That smile -- it felt like glass, to you. You could see right through it, but couldn't touch anything that was beyond - and, with a whim, you decided to shatter it.

"Sans," you asked, quirking your head to the side. "Are you a time-traveler?"

Across from you, that gleaming, perfect smile froze. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy april fools!


	10. Brown Bear, Brown Bear, Tell Me What You See

After a moment, Sans seemed to get his mouth working, and - as was typical of him - he went right for the jugular. ”jeez! you had me goin’ for a second, there. has Pap been reading you stuff out of my sci-fi collection or something?” he managed after a series of desperate, wheezing chuckles, easily acting out the part of the fool.

It was a perfect production. Perfectly timed, perfectly gestured, he sounded so lax and casual that you could almost believe he had no idea what you were talking about. _Almost._ Despite your hard stare, his diligence didn’t waver and, after a few moments, his expression softened into something like worry. “hey, Crane, what’s up? is something wrong?”

You folded your hands on the table, leaning forward slightly as you kept your gaze locked on him. You’d seen someone do this in a movie you’d watched with Papyrus, and you thought it’d make you look cooler. “Sans, we could go through an entire conversation where I point out every odd thing about your behavior, and you, in return, could offer mundane, reasonable explanations in an attempt to damage my faith in my own intuition. But - going through all that won’t change anything, so... why don’t we dispose of this exhausting pretense?”

It was then that Sans’ food arrived - a fat, juicy burger topped with lettuce and a shining bun - and he beamed at the flaming bartender, smoothly hiding that you’d just verbally destroyed him five seconds earlier. “yo, thanks grillbz. hope you don’t mind i brought some food in for my friend, here -- weird diet, y’know?”

The man - you assumed the eponymous Grillby - glanced at you and shook his head. He lingered for a moment, as if silently asking, _do you need anything else_? and silently departed when Sans gave him a thumbs up sign.

Slowly - almost achingly so - he picked up a ketchup bottle, squirted a huge blob onto his bun, and squished it down. For a brief moment, he glanced up at you and your unyielding expression - and then looked back down at his burger, a shadow crossing his face.

He took a huge bite. Chewed. Swallowed. “well, that was quick. how’d i fuck up?”

You let your shoulders relax slightly, now confident in your victory. Not that you had to worry; when you wanted to win, you _did._ “Our interactions are too natural. I can tell you legitimately care about me, despite not knowing me well… and I felt it was natural to care in return. It was strange.”

He squinted at you and leaned forward. You’d taken to speaking more quietly - you were in a bar full of people, after all, and this wasn’t the sort of conversation that should be overheard. “what do you mean, it felt natural to care? are you getting memories from other timelines? because that would be new.”

“Not… quite. How much do you know about what I am? What I can do?”

“enough to know that you aren’t really a fortune teller.” He pointed a greasy finger at you. “you described it as finding ’the perfect solution’ once. that, when presented with a conflict, you intuitively know how to solve it.”

“You’re correct. In a way - I suppose I still ‘tell the future’... but instead of seeing what ills will befall my petitioners… I know, instead, the solution to their problems. In the end, it’s often the same result - I simply derive the circumstances of the problem from the presented solution, instead of the other way around. I know the future of success - and the avoidance of failure.” You took a moment to nibble on the berries.

“mm. how is that relevant here, though?”

“Because the scope of my abilities is far beyond 'knowing the future'. I know _the perfect solution --_ which means - among other things - that I know exactly what to say to make someone happy. It’s an ability that responds directly to whoever I am conversing with. So -- “

“ -- because i gain new memories and change through the timelines, your responses to me differ.”

You nodded. “And because you are very unhappy, I naturally - without thinking about it - started tailoring my responses to you. Making others happy is one of the few things I can do well, after all. Once I realized that… I knew something was odd.”

A moment of staring. He squinted. “that would actually worry me a lot, if i didn’t know that you refuse to lie.”

“Correct. I only say things that are true. Otherwise… I would have no identity at all.” These were pretty good, actually. You’d have to thank him later.

“...so, you realized - by what responses you knew were 'correct' - that we _had_ to have been good friends at one point? and, knowing that was impossible… your only conclusion was, _sans must be a time traveler?_ ”

“Yes. It explained all the odd things I had sensed from you.”

Sans grumbled a bit, chomping on a fry. “you can be kind of a pain, you know.”

“I’m fully aware.” You tilted your head lightly, considering him. “Though… I don’t quite understand why you’re upset that I figured it out.”

“can’t you just…” he wiggled his fingers. “divine it? it’s not like you actually need me to tell you.”

“That would be overstepping my bounds. I have to be fallible, otherwise...”

“yeah, yeah, i know, otherwise you become a god.” Sans rubbed at his face. “human magic is really stupid, you know.”

Twisting your mouth slightly, you folded your hands tightly and looked away. Sans seemed to realize his mistake almost immediately. “shit. sorry. i didn’t mean to be an ass. i mean - okay, i kinda did, but you don’t deserve it.”

You were silent for a moment, then decided to redirect the topic. “What, exactly, is going on?”

“guess there’s no helping it. okay.” Sans prodded at his bun for a moment, idly picking off a sesame seed and crushing it between his fingers. “you know Frisk? you met ‘em, once, when Papyrus brought us all over to the park.”

You nodded swiftly. The strange, reticent child whose secret you hadn’t cared to divine - you remembered them quite well.

“well. they’ve got a fun little ability that allows them to turn back the clock, so to speak. they can manipulate time - and they’ve been doing so liberally to try to change something that happens this year.”

“...What happens?” You prompted after Sans stalled a bit.

There’s a great, heaving sigh. “the end of the world. although - that’s a bit misleading. preventing the end of everything isn’t really their goal. they’ve stopped it before. after so many loops, you’ve got to win at least once, right? no… what they want they want is a _perfect ending,_ and they won’t stop resetting everything until they get it.”

“A perfect ending…” you mused, curling your toes against the pleather seating. “What does that entail?”

Sans shrugged. “at this point, they’d probably settle for an ending where nobody they care about dies.”

“...I see. So - we’ve repeated this year, over and over again? But no one remembers except you and - I assume - Frisk?”

“...and the person trying to end the world, yeah, beyond that, no one else remembers.”

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t want me to find out.”

“cuz I don’t want you involved,” Sans said bluntly, and that gave you a slight moment of pause.

“Why?”

“...one of my few pleasures these days is seeing you and Papyrus be happy. if you got involved then the two people who’ve kept me sane all this time would be put in jeopardy.”

Hmm. That made sense, but… “That’s a half-truth. There’s more.”

Sans gave you a look that said, _you really are a giant pain._ Still, he continued. “i’ve seen lots of my friends die, and, yeah, it’s pretty awful, but Frisk and i have the same friends. in the end, their deaths won’t stick, because the kid’s not going to stop until they get the perfect ending. so… i don’t really have to worry about Papyrus, or Toriel, or Alphys… but…”

“...I’m not Frisk’s friend,” you said quietly. “So if I died - and it was just me that died - “

“Frisk would probably take that as an acceptable loss.” Sans looked down at his plate, and you noticed that his eyes had gone dark. “you can’t protect everyone in the world, after all, i’m sure they’ve realized that. for one person to be saved, another has to be forsaken. that’s how it works up here.”

“...But the idea of me dying isn’t an acceptable loss to you.”

Sans shrugged. “yeah. and i’m not really the one who gets to decide, due to my lack of fancy time-travel powers.”

“Still... this situation is making you miserable. In fact, among miserable situations - I think it ranks very highly. Repeating time over and over again, knowing that nothing you do really matters because you’re the only one who remembers… your accomplishments undone, your meaning stripped away…”

Sans quietly stared at his plate.

“...Why haven’t you asked me for help? At all?”

“i don’t want you to get hurt,” he repeated firmly, and you knew that was a lie. Or - no. It was true.

But it was another half-truth.

“That doesn’t make sense. Even with all of the resets - you couldn’t have known me very long in one consecutive timeline, correct? Why do you care _that_ much about my safety? ...Wouldn’t you be more concerned for your friends, your brother? Wouldn’t securing them a happy ending be more important to you? And… even so - there’s no guarantee that you’d lose me. Protecting me that way - it borders on paranoia. Why?”

Sans folded his fingers together and looked up at you, that smile of his firmly screwed onto place. “the worst thing about being trapped in a time loop is having to pretend you haven’t heard the same dialogue a hundred times. no matter what happens to shake events up - it the end… the little things aren’t that different. every time, i’ve gotta nod along as Tori rants about that thing linda said at the last PTA meeting. every time, i see Alphys post the same status updates, hear Papyrus - ...well, i’m sure you can understand, can’t you? or, at least… imagine how dull that is?”

You nodded.

After a sigh, he looked away. “...anyway, imagine all that, and then imagine a world where there’s someone who is, somehow, immune to that monotony. who always says something different. who never has repeat dialogue - “

“ - you need me to say different things to you, and so I do,” you filled in, understanding clicking into place.

“...yeah. i’ve taken you out today tons of times, Crane, and you always tell me a different stupid joke. can you see how i’d get attached to that?”

“...Yes, I can see how that would be a…” A pause. “A relief.”

“i’d always wondered why it was you that was different. i figured it had something to do with your weird powers, but… i never wanted to confirm it.”

“Hmn. I suppose in a way - even though, on the surface, our relationship is reset - we pick up where we left off in the last timeline, because I know how I’m supposed to respond to you. So - in short… what you’re doing isn’t trying to protect an acquaintance, but a very good friend you’ve made through multiple timelines - a friend who is close to your brother as well. And, for that, you’re willing to sacrifice a piece that could be used to secure your freedom.”

“that’s the long and short of it. i’m not willing to take the risk,” Sans said, his smile relaxing. “so, you -- “

“There’s a hole in your explanation,” you interrupted.

Sans looked at you flatly. “you’re really feisty today. did someone give you caffeine or something?”

“...I’m not entirely certain what caffeine is, but if anything could convince me to truly wake up, it would be finding happiness for Papyrus. And… for you, as well.”

Sans stared for a moment, then gave a _what-can-you-do_ shrug as he finished off his burger. “okay, okay. what’s got your goat now?”

For a moment, you considered asking what that meant - but then you realized that, once more, Sans was trying to get you off topic. You could figure it out from the context, anyway. “It would have taken time to care about me. Why didn’t you ask me for my aid before then? At some point, I would think concern for your brother would outweigh concern for a relative stranger.”

Sans’ eyebrows went up. “okay, so, first off, i’ll forgive you thinking of me as an asshole that takes advantage of people like that, because i know you think of yourself as someone to be taken advantage of.”

You opened your mouth to protest - to say, _well, it is true, I_ _exist to be used_ \- and then you truly realized how incredibly clever Sans was.

If you said that - he would have won. You would have started talking about that, instead, becoming mired in a discussion of _humanity_ and _worth._ In that swamp of a conversation, you would entirely lose sight of the true purpose of your questioning.

In such a simple way, he would have deceived you.

...You must be getting close to something.

(Something in the depths of your head started to hurt.)

You weren’t sure if that was disappointment at the edge of his smile or just a trick of the light. “second, for awhile, i still had hope that Frisk would find a way to get a happy ending - i mean, they’d done it before - so it wasn’t like i was that desperate while i was still getting to know you. and… it took me awhile to learn what you were capable of. by the time i did - i realized i had to keep you out of all this. and… you’re important to Papyrus. i wasn’t going to just sacrifice that.”

Again, a reasonable enough explanation, but something nagged at you (as your head hurt more). You knew he was _lying_ , but not about what, exactly. So, you kept talking to work through it. “...I still don’t understand why you seem so _certain_ that I’d be injured. And - even then - why wasn’t your response to make me into someone Frisk cared about? Actually - you speak like you aren’t actually working together with them. Why not? You have similar goals, assuredly - and the stakes are so high, I can’t understand why the three of us wouldn’t -- “

You paused.

“Crane,” Sans interrupted, his smile dropping.

“You have,” you murmured softly. “You _have_ asked me for a solution before.”

“ _Crane._ ” More urgently, this time, and he pressed his palms flat against the table.

But -- at that point - there was no stopping you. It was too late. “There’s no perfect solution. There’s no happy ending. _You don’t want me involved because you knew I would eventually conclude it doesn’t exist, because I’ve told you so before_.”

At that, fire consumed your head, and you knew you’d edged far too close to that blurry line dividing you from the divine. This was the punishment for being awake - truly being awake - as your influence was starting to cut too deep. (Of course it would, you couldn’t even rely on the excuse of _purity_ here.)

You pressed your gloved hands to your mask, shielding your eyes from the light as you tried to bear the pounding ache. You heard Sans shift across from you - pushing himself off the seat - along with his quiet assurance of, “hold on, i’ll be right back.”

In this state, you weren’t going anywhere.

You felt eyes on you, now - few, scattered, but their gazes were piercing with concern. Your odd appearance was assuredly attracting attention, and being Sans’ companion certainly didn’t help. He was known, here - of course they’d take notice of his associate.

(Really, though, you wished they’d just look away. Perhaps you should sleep? No -- how could you, with what you’d just realized?)

Or… no. Actually, shouldn’t it be, _how could you do anything but sleep when you knew that anything you did would be meaningless?_

...In the depths of your heart… hadn’t you let yourself be tricked into thinking that your future might include Papyrus in it?

How unfortunate.

 _Although_ \- a thought crawled across you, like a particularly persistent fly. _That was certainly the analysis you gave as a human._

Perhaps --

A firm clink interrupted you from your thoughts, along with the words, “don’t even think about it, bud.”

You peered out from the red shield of fabric, looking at the table and the skeleton sitting across from you. His smile was gone, and you knew you were seeing something raw and honest before you. Lightly, he scooted the glass of water closer, and you took a huge gulp from it. It cooled you, somewhat.

It was an act that reinforced your mortality.

“...It would solve a lot,” you replied quietly, staring down at your hands clasped around the glass. “Perhaps it’s something I should stop running from.”

“no.” He shot a brief glare at another customer who was eyeing you too closely, and then returned his attention to you. “i will do _anything_ to prevent that from happening. got it, pal?”

“...Why? You’re faced with a hopeless situation. In that case - isn’t it only natural to pray for a god to deliver a miracle? If you’re worried about Papyrus…” You closed your eyes. “...I’m sure it would be easy enough to prevent him from ever meeting me. He would never even have to know.”

 _“no_ ,” Sans said again. “i said _no._ ”

“Are you.. that sentimental? You’re that attached to me?” You glanced up, exhaustion lining what was visible of your features. “How can you keep going, knowing that… there’s no end to it? That none of us have a future because the future isn’t perfect?”

“because this, right here, is good enough.”

You paused. Something about that took you off guard.

“How can you be alright with this?” You asked, finally getting a good look at the man who had fully accepted his lack-of fate.

“...because… even still - there’s so much to do and see. the world is very big, Crane, much bigger than it ever was Underground. there are still fun things to see. fun things to do. in the end - it’s all meaningless, but… well. isn’t life kind of meaningless, anyway? nothing is ever permanent. everything turns to dust in the end. it just… happens a bit quicker for us.” He paused, briefly, and then glanced at you. “ironically, it was you that taught me that there was beauty in seeing something be rebuilt again. i was being truthful when i said that seeing you and Papyrus become friends again and again is a comfort. i’m not sure it could ever get old, actually.”

“i don’t want to gamble with the happiness that already exists - and i don’t want you feeling like it’s your _duty_ to surrender your humanity, because it’s not. i’m not going to let you get forced into anything. do you understand?

Very lightly, you rapped a light note against the edge of the glass. “...You do realize you are, in essence, _forcing_ me into inaction.”

A shrug. “hey. if, one day, you say to me - _sans, I want to be a god, because I think that’s what’ll make me happiest_ \- and it’s not some kind of self-sacrificing bullshit, then, yeah, buddy, go for it. but.. i can’t really imagine that happening. can you?”

You fell silent. Existing as you did now was hard _enough._

“that’s what i thought.” Sans paused, the buzzing of his phone catching his attention. He glanced at the screen, pressed a few buttons, and then winced. “ahh, shit. this is super not how i wanted this to go. uhh. so. Papyrus wants to hang out, and, uh, i figure you’re probably kind of upset. should i stall?”

You were silent.

Sans sighed, beginning to type something. “...i know this is a lot to take in, but… crap.” He gave up, setting the phone aside and looking at you. “i know you look to the future by nature, but…”

He stopped himself and put his head in his hands. “i’ve never had this conversation before. i dunno what to say to you.” You could tell that he really wished he had some “perfect solution” powers of his own right now.

Something about seeing him like this inspired tenderness in you. Slowly - very slowly-  you picked up your hand and placed it on top of Sans’ head. “...I think I understand what you’re trying to say,” you murmured, looking over at him. “Let’s… stop thinking about this for now, and go see Papyrus.”

You saw the lights of his eyes flickering from between boney digits. “he’s real good at making it all feel better.”

“...He is,” you agreed, and - once more - you realized how much he meant to the both of you.

 

* * *

 

 

Sans let you sleep on the way back to the park, assuring you that he’d ride slow and wouldn’t let you fall off. You were grateful for the chance to make yourself presentable before you saw Papyrus. It had been easy enough to agree that he shouldn’t know, for now, and, as well…

You accepted Sans’ demand that Frisk should _never_ find out about you.

Which was - quite honestly - very easily accomplished. Sans told you that they purposefully tried to avoid you throughout the timelines. Vaguely, you felt like he might know _why_ that was - there were an extraordinary number of oddities about this situation, after all, and many of them tied right back to Sans himself - but… you didn’t have the energy to pick apart any more lies today.

...Or - rather… perhaps you’d simply come around to Sans’ way of thinking, that you shouldn’t involve yourself for now.

It was hard to say. For now, you put it out of your mind, and you tried your best to take his advice; it wasn’t like avoiding problems was unusual behavior for you, anyway.

  
Wasn’t that the entirety of your life before Papyrus found you?

Something to live for… A reason to wake up in the morning…

Perhaps it was best to just accept what you had.

Through your uneasy sleep, you heard a voice calling to you, and you realized the tricycle had slowed to a stop. “hey, Crane. there’s… something else i wanna make sure you know.”

“Mmmn?“ You stirred a bit, looking back over your shoulder at Sans. He wasn’t facing you - instead, he stared straight ahead,

“...make sure you take care of yourself, because, uh…” You saw his head turn, his face coming into profile. He was looking at the park. “there are lots of people out there who really care about you.”

You followed his gaze, and the strangeness of the scene before you caused you to rub your eyes in disbelief. Banners hung from the trees, brightly colored, sparkly streamers dangled from branches, balloons wafted in the spring breeze, and -

A rolling shout rose up to greet you.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CRANE!”

You blinked in complete incomprehension.


	11. Crowning Glory

This was… baffling?

Staring at their grinning faces - (well, Papyrus and Undyne were grinning, Toriel had a warm smile and Alphys looked to be, as usual, petrified by her own nerves) - you were overcome with confusion. For a moment, all you could do was look between them and Sans - who stood there, hands in his pockets and wearing his firm, shining smile.

“ARE YOU SURPRISED?” Papyrus asked, throwing his hands up into the air. “SANS DIDN’T LET ON, DID HE?”

“man, bro, you give me no credit. course i didn’t. i bet Crane is the most surprised she’s ever been in her life.”

“I’m very shocked,” you conceded, looking around at all of the _things_ and the _people_. “Though perhaps not more than I’ve ever been before.”

Strangely enough, you actually recognized many of the people milling around the park. Some were regulars of yours, both adults and children whose problems ranged from petty to heart aching. Others, though - many of the monsters, in fact - were unfamiliar to you, and you assumed they were friends of Papyrus’ in some variety. You saw a cool looking girl with a skateboard showing off to a group of younger children - among them, a pair of rocks - and, watching on the sidelines, was a trendy looking girl made of green fire. The birds milled around the crowd, pecking at crumbs of bread and other delicacies, and you watched one of them startle as an interested clam got a little too close.

A splash of yellow caught your eye. Ah - it was the monster child that had started all of this, so long ago. A girl dressed in pure black was tossing grapes for them to catch in their mouth. Somewhat to their left, a gaggle of white dogs were having the grandest of times with a frisbee - though, notably, a particularly twitchy looking black and white hound was, instead, peering at everything suspiciously.

Papyrus spoke, drawing your attention away from the scenery. “WELL! THAT’S TOO BAD. DID I AT LEAST GET SECOND PLACE?”

You thought this over for a moment, and then nodded. You could give him that, at least.

“YIPEE! I LOVE SECOND PLACE. RED RIBBONS ARE VERY DASHING, YOU KNOW! FAR MORE SO THAN BLUE.” Papyrus looked down, squinting at Sans, and he was met with a shrug in return.

“suits me fine. i’m not one for dashing, anyway - bit too much of a workout for me.”

“SAAAAAANS!”

“it’s a pun,” Sans filled in at your look. “dashing can mean ‘handsome’, like how Pap used it, or it can mean running fast, like how i used it.”

“Oh, I understand. Thank you,” you replied, and, at that point, Undyne started getting antsy.

“As much fun as standing around a circle is -- which is sarcasm, by the way, it’s not fun - there’s a party to enjoy!!” She threw her arms out, indicating the entire park. “We invited TONS of people!”

“I see that.” You scratched your cheek. “How did you convince them to attend?”

“Free food!” Undyne crossed her arms and grinned. “Well! Actually, everyone wanted to come. Pap’s been talking you up to anyone who’ll listen for five seconds, and a lot of the humans wanted to thank you or?? Something???”

You paused, not sure what to address first. “Talking me up…?”

“AHAHAHAHA! AHAHA! HAHA! UNDYNE LOOK AT YOU, YOU JOKER! YOU KIDDER, YOU!” Papyrus put a hand on your back and encouraged you forward. He was, somehow, sweating. “ANYWAY, CRANE! WE MUST BE OFF! THERE ARE GAMES TO PLAY! PRESENTS TO OPEN! FOODSTUFFS TO CONSUME!”

“Yeah!! WE GOT A PINATA!”

“A - A what?” You tapped your fingers together, feeling a bit dizzy.

“YOU SMASH IT OPEN AND CANDY FALLS OUT!” Undyne shouted, pumping her fist in the air.

You glanced at Alphys, slightly alarmed. She seemed the sanest in this situation. “It’s not a living thing, is it…?”

The small lizard chuckled softly, adjusting her glasses. “N-No, and, ah, if you don’t want to break it, I’m sure Undyne will be happy to do the honors.”

“Oh. Alright.”

With that, Papyrus lead you off - chattering merrily all the while… and you couldn’t help but wonder how many times this had happened before.

 

* * *

 

You were glad birthdays only happened once a year, because having all of this attention on you was wearing you out.

Having Papyrus constantly by your side helped - he never ventured more than a few feet from you - but there were so many games to play, so many things to do. The girl on the skateboard showed you the ins-and-outs of her hobby, and you liked the feeling of sailing across the ground. The biggest of the dogs gave you a piggy(puppy?)-back ride, and Papyrus taught you how to play a traditional human game called “pin the tail on the donkey”, which you weren’t very good at, but that didn’t seem to matter much. And - further - everyone wanted to speak to you, wish you a happy birthday, introduce themselves and - in some cases - give you gifts.

The first one had been from Undyne, and you’d marveled at the sparkly paper for so long that she’d actually had to start chanting, _open it! open it!_ Although - to be honest - before she’d said something, you’d thought the shiny box _was_ the gift.

Carefully, slitting your fingers through tape and creases of paper, you undid the wrapping, set it aside, and revealed… a cardboard box.

“It’s very nice,” you looked up at Undyne, patting your hands on the brown material. “I like boxes. They’re very square.”

“AGHH! NO! INSIDE THE BOX, CRANE. OPEN THE BOX.”

“Oh.” You blinked, shrugged, and then set to peeling off more tape - at least, until Papyurus leaned over to help you, delicately slitting the clear material open with a knife.

Inside - nestled among frothy waves of pink and white tissue paper - was a stuffed doll in the shape of a crane. Lightly, you tapped its long, shiny black beak, and played with its long, felt wings.

“All the girls in those human documentaries have a lot of stuffed animals, so I thought you should have one! Y’know, to keep you company during naptime!” Undyne gave you a pointy grin, putting her hands on her hips and leaning forward. “Took me ages to find the right kind of bird!”

You picked it up by its fat, squishy body, and tapped your beak to its. Then.

“It’s cute.” You poked at one of its glass eyes. “It’s really cute…”

“Hah! Knew it~!” She pumped her fist in the air. “Knew you’d like it!”

For some reason, that sentence struck you particularly as you sat there, on the grass, a doll in your lap. You heard its countless variations as you sat there, letting people come give you their greetings. _I hope you like it,_ and, _I wasn’t sure what to get you, but I thought you’d like this!_ or, _Do you like it? I thought really hard about it!_

Each time, it made you feel something strange.

Toriel gave you homemade blueberry pie - apologizing, as she visited you, that Frisk couldn’t make it. They were feeling ill, and, with a note of bitterness, she added that they wanted their father to take care of them.

Sans gave you a joke book - something he’d gotten right under your nose, you assumed, particularly with how sloppily wrapped it was. “study up,” he’d said, “and we’ll make a jester out of you yet.”

(Papyrus had yelled at him to stop corrupting you.)

Alphys had apologized, saying that oh, her gift had taken longer than she’d thought, she was _really_ sorry - but you hadn’t minded. You hadn’t expected any present from her.

You hadn’t expected any presents from _anyone._

But they kept coming - people kept _bringing_ you things. Children you’d advised brought you small trinkets - marbles, pretty stones, and nicely pressed leaves and flowers. That smiling, nervous man - the one who’d been so nervous about moving in with his girlfriend - proudly came to say he’d gotten engaged, and, well, if you wanted to come to the wedding, you’d be welcome, and, oh, here, he’d heard online that you were having a _birthday party_ and -- gosh, he felt like a fool, never having thought that you might have a _birthday_ and he wasn’t sure what to _get you_ but Julia, see, she does _metalworking and --_ right? isn’t that _so cool?_ Anyway, they worked together on making you a cast iron fork-and-spoon set, you know, just to have, uh… _he really hoped you liked it._

(You told him you did, and they were both really happy.)

A grandmother whose son you’d helped her reconnect with brought you a hand-knitted bag with little buttons shaped like birds running up the side, which you were very thankful for, because it gave you something to hold everything else in. You stared and your bag full of bits and baubles, things that people had _hoped you would like…_ You, as a person. Not as a fortune-teller - not as an advice giver - not as a _god -_ but you, as Crane… and you felt odd.

They hoped you’d like them.

They wanted to thank you. To thank _you._

You stared, and stared, and Papyrus crouched down beside you, putting a giant gloved hand on your shoulder. “DO YOU NEED A BREAK, CRANE?”

Looking up at him and his concerned face, you nodded. And - without saying anything move - he scooped you up - bag and all - and carried you off to the edge of the gathering. Some people tried to speak to you on the way, but Papyrus brushed them off with cheerful declarations of, “VERY SORRY! BUT THERE IS IMPORTANT WORK TO BE DONE!” He was very good at asserting himself, it seemed.

Taking you over to the currently uninhabited playground, he settled you on one of the swings, depositing you with the sort of gentleness that a knight might show his princess. Scooting behind you, he rested his hands on the chains and contemplated the top of your head. “You’re thinking about something, aren’t you?”

You leaned back against him, giving up on keeping yourself upright. “I am…” you said slowly, watching Sans entertain a crowd of partygoers with some trick involving a pineapple. “How’d you know?”

“Just a hunch.” He slid a hand down the chain and rested it on your shoulder - probably to keep you a little more stable. “Want to talk about it?”

You closed your eyes. “I’m not really sure how to. It’s confusing.”

“HMN. ARE YOU DOING ALRIGHT? DO YOU NEED SOME SPACE? WE COULD START WRAPPING THE PARTY UP.”

You were silent for such a long moment that he started to tense a bit with worry. “Was that a pun?”

“...EXCUSE ME?” You could practically feel him squinting, and the back of your neck prickled. Embarrassment, you belatedly realized.

Still, you’d dug this hole - might as well climb into it. “Um. Wrapping. The stuff on presents… it’s a party? My apologies, it clearly wasn’t a pun.”

A pause, and then Papyrus sank to his knees. At first, you thought it was in defeat, but - no, he broke down into laughter, catching you around the waist and pressing his face against your back. “NYEH-HEH! AHH, LOOK AT YOU, FINDING HIDDEN MEANING IN THE GREAT PAPYRUS’ WORDS! YOU’D MAKE SANS PROUD.”

Sans…

You placed your hands on over his, your small fingers blending in with the cloth of his gloves. _take care of yourself,_ he’d said. _because there’s a lot of people out there who really care about you._

...You hadn’t realized how much they really did, and the proof of that was sitting right there in your lap, contained in a lovingly handknit bag.

“Papyrus,” you asked suddenly, and his laughter stilled. “Why did you want to throw me a birthday party?”

The skeleton behind you gave the matter some thought. “HMN. WELL. AT FIRST, I JUST WANTED TO TREAT YOU TO SOMETHING NEW - SOMETHING YOU’D NEVER DONE BEFORE. BUT… REALLY… IN THE END, I WANTED TO SHOW YOU THAT YOU MATTER. IS IT ALRIGHT? ARE YOU HAVING FUN?” He shifted so that his chin was resting on your shoulder. “REALLY, IF YOU’RE TIRED…”

“No… it’s fine. I’m having fun. Everyone is very nice, and…” You trailed off, not sure what else to say. “‘I’m just… worrying about things.”

“WELL! LET ME KNOW IF THERE IS ANYTHING THAT I MIGHT DO TO EASE YOUR MANIFOLD BURDENS.”

Guilt stabbed through you, taking hold of your heart. He was so kind to you, and you’d done nothing for him in return. He kept saying that you were enough, that being friends with you was all he wanted, but…

Was that really true?

And - wasn’t it awful, that he cared for you so much, yet you kept so much from him?

Shouldn’t he know who you really were? Where you’d come from, how you’d… well. Didn’t he deserve to know? Didn’t -

“CRANE,” Papyrus interrupted your thoughts. “IT’S OKAY. I’M NOT SURE WHAT YOU’RE THINKING ABOUT, BUT WHATEVER IT IS - IT’S OKAY.”

A pause. “How did you know?”

You felt him shrug against you. “WHEN YOU BECOME VERY QUIET AND STARE AT YOUR LAP, THAT USUALLY MEANS SOMETHING IS WRONG!”

You were stunned by his great and powerful abilities of perception, but before you could comment on his promising future as a detective, you heard a strange, mechanical, somewhat tinny voice loudly proclaim something across the park.

“Ahhh, darlings, don’t make a scene! Yes, it is I, the stylish, fashionable, and enviable Mettaton - here to bring the life to the party!”

You looked around, though the commotion was easily located. A huge crowd of people - monsters and humans alike - had gathered around metal, box-like thing with hot pink legs. Some stared in awe, some took quick, flickering photos with their cellphones, and behind you, Papyrus groaned. “OH NO!!! WHY IS HE HERE!!! THIS IS BOTH EARTH-SHATTERINGLY DEVASTATING AND UNBELIEVABLY EXCITING AT THE SAME TIME!!! WOE HAS BEEN CAST UPON THE GREAT PAPYRUS, FOR HIS EMOTIONS ARE IN A WHIRLING JUMBLE!”

“Um,” you began, looking up at Papyrus. “You know that toaster?”

Papyrus… squinted. “TOASTER?”

“Yeah,” you pointed. “That thing people punch numbers into, and it gives them other numbers.”

“...YOU MEAN… A CALCULATOR?”

A pause. “A what?”

You didn’t have time to clear up the toaster-versus-calculator debate, because, with a grand flourish, the toastculator said something that caught your attention. “Now, where is the birthday girl?”

“Um. Should I go over there?”

Papyrus began to sweat. “I. UH. I DON’T THINK YOU’RE READY TO FACE METTATON YET, CRANE! HE’S!! OVERWHELMINGLY FABULOUS!!! EVEN I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, CANNOT COMPARE!”

That… didn’t sit right with you. The Great Papyrus was, of course, the _most_ fabulous, and you would prove it by successfully withstanding the robot’s glamor. “It’d be rude not to go say hello,” you said, shifting your bag full of gifts to your side as you began to stand.

“CRANE, I’M NOT SURE IF THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA!!”

“It’ll be fine,” you said, though you actually had no idea whether or not it would, actually, be alright.

You couldn’t back out now, though, because Mettaton had noticed you; one of the partygoers had probably pointed you out or something. “Aha!” He exclaimed, strutting over to you - and the interested crowd followed him, pressing around for a look like a herd of cats fascinated by a fluttering butterfly. “Are you the maiden of honor?”

“Um… I… think so? It’s my birthday. Apparently.” Papyrus reluctantly let go of you, allowing you to stand and meet Mettaton halfway. He hovered behind you, his smile strained with his fretting.

“Wonderful!” The calcoaster spread his arms out. You noticed, in one hand, that he held a very, _very_ shiny crown decorated with bright, big, most certainly fake jewels. “Then, I have something to bestow upon you, on this most special and fab~u~lous of occasions!”

“UM!” Papyrus interjected. “UM, NOT TO LOOK ANY HORSES IN THE MOUTH - BUT, UM…. WHY ARE YOU HERE???”

“Why, Papyrus! I’m shocked! Appalled!” Mettaton put a hand over his heart. “How could I see that announcement of a _birthday party_ for my _favorite employee’s_ special friend and _not_ make an appearance! Tut tut, for shame! What sort of boss do you take me for?”

“S--SHE’S NOT MY SPECIAL FRIEND!” Papyrus declared, his face turning a puzzling orange.

You looked up at him, baffled. “We’re not friends?”

“UH. I. OF COURSE. OF COURSE WE ARE.”

“Then… I’m not special?”

“CRANE, YOU ARE A SPECIAL FRIEND, BUT NOT!! IN THE WAY HE’S TALKING ABOUT!!”

Mettaton laughed, a cascading series of electric notes. “My my~ how tantalizing! But, really, let’s get business out of the way, first! I - Mettaton, superstar extraordinaire! - would like to bestow this Mettaton Approved Birthday Glamcrown upon you this day!”

“Oh.” A pause. “Well, thank you.” You bent your head, allowing Mettaton to place the crown overtop your hat without too much difficulty. You were short, after all. “Um, don’t get too close, though, since you’re made of -- “

Mettaton completely and absolutely did not listen to a single thing you said, because - as he approached - he noticed something. “DARLING!” He shrieked, voice reaching a sparkling crescendo. “Your eyes are _gorgeous!_ Why _ever_ are you covering up your face with that dreadful mask?”

It was then that everything sort of went to hell.

Papyrus tried to intervene - he really did. But he wasn’t quite quick enough to catch Mettaton before his extendable arm shot out, fingers snapping forward and wrapping around the beak of your mask. Alarmed, you shoved your hand forward, planting your palm on the screen that made up his face. You felt a spark and flinched back - and this, too, gave Mettaton pause.

“Oh,” his voice warbled, the buttons on his body starting to rhythmically flash red. “ThAaaaAAAaaat isN’t gooOOod!”

It was expected, though, you were a magus - and magi had a very, very tumultuous relationship with technology. Sometimes, things broke at their very touch… as Mettaton was now finding out the hard way.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on it, though, because -- with a sailing, arching punch -- Undyne screamed, “YO!! BACK OFF, BUD!”

Miserably, you could only watch the resulting destruction of a fishy-fist meeting a malfunctioning Mettaton.

You’d _told_ her not to fight the toaster…!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops how do you write mettaton LOL
> 
> PS congrats kibbits on calling my stupid bullshit in advance.


	12. They Say The Nose has a Direct Link to Memory, But Birds Can't Really Smell Anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has Issues, even if they like burying them five feet under the ground.

A sneeze shook your entire body and, despite your best efforts, the bird plush in your arms was drenched with snot.

Somehow, this took priority over everything else wrong with your situation, and you stopped at the corner of the street, wavering a little as you desperately rubbed the mess off with your glove. The window beside you - dirty, smudged with eager fingers and unrestrained noses - reflected a truly pathetic scene: you, ashen-faced, stricken by fever and bound to the earth, with an itchy heat burning in your throat and a nose as clogged as a temperamental kitchen drain.

You were sick, and you hated it.

The skin of your arms sat uneasily on your bones, and you’d already scratched it raw - your face, too, reddened by you wiping at your eyes and your mouth and your _nose,_ oh how you wished you could just tear it off. Stop the dripping. Purify yourself of this sticky haze, and this faint, awful feeling that made it hard to think.

It wasn’t often that you ventured from your park, but you needed some way to cleanse your body from the putrid taint. A bath, a pond, a fountain - any body of water would suffice, but you had to find something wet to put your feet in. The sacred power of water called to you, and, singlemindedly you trudged along in pursuit of it.

Of course… even in normal circumstances, you weren’t the most directionally apt person, and being sick hardly made it better. The birds tried to help - they really did - but the sparrows wanted you to go to the Primus’ house, the pigeons were leading you to a nearby ornamental fountain, and the finches cheeped and bobbed their way over to Papyrus’ street - leading you to follow an eclectic mix of all their chirped directions.

In essence - you were dizzy, sick, and horribly lost, with only a stuffed toy and a flock of overly eager avians for company.

 _Why had things come to this?_ would be an appropriate question to ask in this situation, though the answer was easy. You were _stubborn._

You were going to do this by yourself.

Blinking absently, you looked up at the neon sign and the strange symbols plastered across its surface. The pictures meant nothing to you, but you knew red meant _stop_ and white meant _go,_ so you waited for the red hand to disappear before you headed across the rough black street.

 _Go right!_ you heard chirp to your left.

 _Turn left!_ came a warble from your right.

 _Walk down this street!_ cooed a dove, and that was the direction you decided to follow. He was bobbing his head so handsomely and energetically, after all, which was definitely a qualification for a Smart Bird who knew Exactly What Was Going On.

It was hard work, putting one foot in front of the other, but you did it anyway, because you wanted to. Because you _needed_ to. You’d made a decision, after all.

Due to that strange birthday of yours… you’d decided to wake up.

Sure, the party had ended disastrously, with Toriel helping evacuating the crowd from the malfunctioning robotic pop idol and Undyne being sent to the hospital, but before that particular chain of events, it had been…

Fun.

You’d had fun.

You’d been having so much fun lately, and, little bit by little bit - though you couldn’t really believe it, nor did you truly understand why - you’d come to realize… that you were being viewed as an individual. That Alphys, Undyne, Sans, those people who brought you gifts - _Papyrus…_ thought of you as…

 _Human._ A _human._ A _person._

It terrified you, honestly, frightened you that you were going to disappoint them all. That you wouldn’t be satisfactory, that you wouldn’t be enough, because what good were you? What merits did you have? You were proving how incompetent you were right now as you wandered around the city streets. _What worth did you have beyond your powers?_ What worth did you have beyond that of something to fix problems, a god?

You’d never wanted to be something like that. You were certain that your own flaws were intrinsic and unavoidable - and so, you’d slept, dreamed, and clung to the past as you tried to balance between the two fates you felt were inescapable.

Now, though - you couldn’t help but think of the strange friendships you’ve made _,_ and of Sans’ despair as he sat across from you in that booth, resigned to a fate of fleeting happiness, seeing his dreams snatched away, time and time again…

And of Papyrus - and his hope _._ That hope that gave you hope in turn. The way he looked at you - like he saw something more. You knew, looking at him, that Papyrus would never lose faith in you.

It was terrifying, yes. You were scared out of your mind - but you also wanted to stand up, to do something by yourself - to be someone reliable and strong, like him. So he didn’t have to take care of you all the time.

And so, you were going to take care of yourself now, even though you were running only on the fumes of your determined realization. You were going to _walk,_ even if it was tiring. Even if you were sick. Even if you were lost, and it was hard to think.

Well - at least, you were going to, until a booming voice stopped you short. “CRANE!”

Your feet stilled, and you stopped in the middle of the street, turning and looking over your shoulder. Ah - it was easy to recognize the figure scrambling towards you, his scarf billowing in the breeze and his vibrantly white shirt catching the light. “Bad to the bone…” you slowly read the blocky letters out loud and - absently - you thought that might be a pun.

What was Papyrus doing here?

It didn’t occur to you that, you know, stopping in the middle of a crosswalk was a really, really bad idea, so it was very fortunate that it only took about fifteen seconds for him to advance upon you, scoop you up, and bring back to safety before the blinking walk sign switched over to red.

“Hi, Papyrus,” you mumbled, looking up at the sweat beading across his brow. “Um, what are you doing?”

“I…. THINK THAT SHOULD BE OBVIOUS! I’M TAKING YOU TO MY HOUSE.” He strode swiftly down the concrete, and the beak of the bird plush in your arms bobbed slightly with each step he took. Something seemed kind of strained about his tone.

That didn’t quite fully register with you, though, because you were still kind of focused on the whole… trying to be _independent_ thing. “Um, you don’t need to. I - “

You sneezed again, covering your mouth so you wouldn’t get it all over Papyrus. Instead, a disgusting trail of mucus stained the fabric of your glove, and you looked at it in miserable dismay. “I can walk,” you finished in a rasp.

“WHILE I ADMIRE YOUR CONFIDENCE, I WOULD MUCH PREFER IT IF YOU DIDN’T.” After a beat, he continued. “WHAT ARE THE SYMPTOMS OF THE TERRIBLE ILLNESS THAT YOU’VE SO CLEARLY CONTRACTED?”

“Symp...toms?” You looked up into the fluffy clouds dotting the sky. “Um…”

“WHAT PARTS OF YOU ARE AFFLICTED,” He explained in a tone that was almost aggressively cheerful. “AND WHAT UNPLEASANT SENSATIONS ARE THEY PRODUCING?”

“My throat… and head. And nose.” You coughed, a miserable sound that ripped through your already weak chest. “But… I can… take care of myself.”

“I… SEE! WELL!” Papyrus peered down at you. “...WHERE WERE YOU GOING BEFORE I FOUND YOU?”

It took you a moment to remember the answer to the question. “Um. Wanted water. For my feet.”

“YOUR… FEET?”

“Yes. I don’t feel well.”

“WELL, ALRIGHT. WATER FOR YOUR FEET. LUCKILY FOR YOU, THAT IS EASILY ACQUIRED AT THE GREAT PAPYRUS’ HOUSE. NYEH-HEH-HEH!”

You stared at him for a few moments, your gaze bleary. Something buzzed in your head, telling told that the cheer oozing out of his voice was fake, and you listened to it. “Are you… okay?”

“I AM SPLENDID, THANK YOU FOR ASKING.”

“Um…” With a little tug, you pulled off your dirty glove and then reached up, running your thumb across the point of his cheek. “Are you sure? You seem… strange.”

Very suddenly, Papyrus stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and time seemed to freeze between the two of you. He didn’t look down but, after a few moments, he stepped to the side, kneeling down and gently shifting you so that your feet touched the ground. You wobbled, having forgotten how hard it was to stand under your own power - but that wasn’t a problem for long, because he pulled you into a hug shortly after.

It was strange how tight he was holding you. Had something happened? It was fuzzy, hard to think, hard to decipher - so, you had to ask. “What’s wrong?”

Papyrus took a deep breath, and you could feel that forced cheer melting away as he spoke. That wall he’d been keeping up finally broke down.  “What were you _doing?_ ”

It was a sound that broke your heart, shattering it into pieces in your foggy haze. “What do you mean?”

“Why - you’re _sick,_ Crane! You can barely walk straight! I thought you were going to collapse before I got to you!” He hugged you tighter, burying his face in your shoulder. “Why didn’t you wait for me to come get you?”

Silence.

You remembered a story about a boy who went to go look for his brother in the snow, and you found that your dry tongue had stilled in your mouth.

“I couldn’t find you in the park, and… someone said they saw you hadn’t looked very well. That you’d wandered off. I was _scared._ ”

“I…” You closed your eyes. It hurt to use your voice. “I’m sorry.”

“I said I’d always come for you, didn’t I? Why didn’t you wait?”

You tried to swallow. Something stabbed through you - guilt, again. You’d _messed up._ “I wanted… to do it by myself.”

“You don’t have to. I’m here for you. You can rely on me.” There was an odd desperation in his voice - one you didn’t want to hear.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated as you went completely limp. “I’m really, really sorry.”

“...It’s okay.” He sounded like he was reassuring himself just as much as you. “It’s okay now, the Great Papyrus will make everything better! You don’t have to be sorry. It’s alright.”

Silence. “Alright?”

You didn’t reply, and, after giving you a few reassuring pats on the shoulder, he stood. With one hand, he kept you balanced against him, and he pulled out his phone with the other, dialing with his thumb and bringing the speaker to his lack-of-ears.

Ring. Ring. Then, “GOOD AFTERNOON, YOUR MAJESTY! HOW ARE YOU TODAY?”

Your cheek smooshed against Papyrus ribs as you rested your weight on him. Closing your eyes, you listened to him talk, and he idly rubbed your shoulder. “THAT’S GOOD TO HEAR! ER, YOU DON’T HAPPEN TO BE BUSY, DO YOU…? AH! SPLENDID. SEE, AH, I COULD USE A LITTLE ADVICE ON HOW TO TEND TO A SICK HUMAN!” A pause. “YES, THAT’S RIGHT! I’M BRINGING HER TO MY HOUSE. YOU WOULDN’T HAPPEN TO BE WILLING TO… AH! YOU CAN? WONDERFUL! THANK YOU! AHH, I CAN HEAR THE TRUMPETING OF THE ANGELS NOW! ‘TORIEL!’ THEY PROCLAIM WITH THEIR BRASSY MAJESTY. ‘TORIEL! QUEEN OF THE MONSTERS AND MASTER CARETAKER OF HUMANS!’”

Another long pause, and there was some more conversation you couldn’t quite focus on. His words all blurred together into an enthusiastic buzz, and, by the time he was finished, you had slipped so deeply into your own thoughts that you didn’t react when he picked you up once more.

Maybe he would have been more concerned about that if your expression wasn’t so… neutral.

 

* * *

 

You awakened on a couch, a blanket draped over you and a number of fat, soft pillows propped under your head. The plush bird sat on your chest, its neck flopped over your shoulder, and you immediately noticed that it looked much cleaner.

For a moment, that made you happy.

Nothing had changed in the skeleton brother’s house, from the odd decor and it's tragically hued couch. The living room was empty aside from you, so you pushed yourself up, coughing weakly as you did so. Immediately, you saw a face in the doorway to the kitchen - one you recognized easily, considering how unique she was as a person. Toriel, Queen of the Monsters.

Her expression gentled when she saw your masked face, and she stepped into the room quietly. “How are you doing, little one?”

“Dunno,” was your intelligent reply. Something seemed strange, and it took you a moment to realize what it was - your hat wasn’t on your head, and your hood was pulled down. Your mask was firmly in place, though, and that stymied any panic that would have resulted from being under-dressed.

“Do you feel like you could eat? I have some soup prepared, and I brought over a pie. I know you’re fond of blueberries.”

Eating sounded… tolerable, so you nodded.

A smile curved across her mouth, and she gazed at you for a few moments before speaking.“Papyrus ran to the store to buy some medicine, so we shall have you feeling much better shortly. Stay still, little one - I will bring you some food.”

It was easy to obey, as nothing seemed more unappealing at the moment than getting up.

Toriel left for about a minute, and you heard clinking from the kitchen before she returned, a bowl in one hand and a plate in the other. Gently, she set the orange dishware on the table before you, and sat beside you as you curled your legs underneath yourself and sat up.

Blankets draped around you, nose running, plush toy in your lap and a warm bowl in your hands… you truly felt pathetic, yet, at the same time, there was something comforting about all of this. Somehow, you were torn between two conflicting emotions - shame and guilt, and this strange, odd warmth that reminded you of…

Of…

...Of being young once more.

You coughed. It hurt. Slowly, you spooned soup into your mouth, and it felt good going down your burning throat. Toriel had made it mild enough that the taste didn’t bother you. It was… tomato, you thought? You weren’t really a soup expert, so you couldn’t say.

She sat down next to you and spoke while you ate. “He left about… oh, twenty minutes ago, so he should be back shortly.”

“...Was… he upset?” You rasped, speaking before you could really think about it.

“Upset?” Toriel sounded surprised, and, internally, you cursed yourself. Though - it was weak. Half-hearted. “No… but…”

An expression of concern crossed her features, as if she knew he wasn’t the type to show it when he was upset. “Did something happen?”

You were silent, staring off into the distance, and Toriel contemplated you for a long moment. “...If there is something you’d like to speak about… I will listen. Gladly.”

The spoon made a soft clink as you set it in the bowl. Should you talk about it? You felt so dizzy. Hazy. Lost. All of that determination you’d felt earlier had been devoured by fever and - the heartbreaking quality of his voice. What had you done wrong? How could you have prevented him from having to feel those things?

...How could you prevent him from hurting when - when the things Sans had talked about came to pass?

How could you fix things?

How --

What should you do -

You wanted to do a good job, but you didn’t know _how to --_

A hand rested on your shoulder, interrupting you from your thoughts. “Perhaps,” came a delicate voice from above you. “You should try the pie?”

Absently, you obeyed, setting the bowl down and taking the plate offered to you. With a somewhat clumsy motion, you speared the points of the fork through the crust, picking up a bite and putting it in your mouth.

You froze.

Toriel blinked, flicking her gaze from your stunned expression to the plate in your hand. With a flash, her face broke into dawning realization as she identified the problem.

Or - well, at least, her interpretation of it.

“Oh, I -- I am very sorry! I - oh, I cannot _believe_ that I brought the wrong pie, I know humans do not enjoy snails, I - “ Cutting herself off sharply, she stood reached out to take the plate from you, but you resisted, turning away and starting to shove massive bites of the pastry into your mouth.

“It’s goo’,” you managed through mouthfuls of cooked snail. “It’s so goo’, i’, i’ht…”

Everything hit you in that moment. Every distant emotion, every feeling you’d felt, not understood, and pushed down in your heart - they came to the surface, and you couldn’t help it, and water was running down your face along with snot and you felt awful, so awful, why was being human so hard?

Why was it so hard to feel things?

Why…

“Oh, goodness -- “ You heard Toriel murmur before she pulled the plate away from you, setting it down on the table and bringing you into a hug. You latched onto her, pressing your cheek against the soft fabric of her shirt. She smelled like vanilla, like cinnamon - and it was so different from the muddy swamp that you’d lived in with your parents and your family, but…

But still - somehow…

...The white of her fur reminded you of your own mother. And you sobbed, because it reminded you of all the things that were wrong with you - and how much you missed what you’d lost.

She held you gently, running a hand over your hair, and then down across your back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for…”

“Shh,” she interrupted, pressing her nose against your hair. “Do not apologize. You may cry all you would like, little one. I will be here.”

“I’m - I’m a _disappointment,_ I - _disappointed_ him… I…”

“Disappointed… who?”

“Papyrus!” You wailed as loudly as your raspy throat would let you. “He was so - sad _,_ I just - I wished to take care of myself and I made him so _sad, I…_ ”

“...Oh, goodness, little one.” She cradled your head with her hand and nudged you with her snout. “Goodness… Papyrus cares for you very deeply. Whatever has happened, I am sure he still holds you in very high regard.”

“I know _._ Th-that’s, that’s what… what I am afraid of, that, that he shall… believe in me, even when I disappoint him and hurt him, time and time again.”

After a moment, she spoke, the seriousness of a mother in her tone. “We all hurt each other, my child. Large wounds, small wounds, intentional or no - we all do harm, human and monster. That is… a necessary part of being alive. However… the important thing to remember is that, when you do harm… that you…”

She paused, as if speech had become difficult for a moment. “...Reach out to the other person and communicate. Reconcile. Share your feelings - and through that, you shall gain understanding… and love.”

That word twisted in your gut. _Love._ Papyrus --

….didn’t he…

You swallowed, unable to finish the thought. It was too _scary._ You wanted to be awake, but it was so terrifying, and you didn’t know how to deal with it at all. How could you do this without hurting him more? In little ways, in big ways, in…

“Little one…” Toriel put her hands on your shoulders, pulling you back so she could look at your face. “You are young, and you have time. Right now, focus on feeling better. You can worry about all of these things in time.”

Time.

...Did you, really have that?

You hiccuped and coughed at the same time, producing an awful mess - and Toriel got you a tissue and started dabbing at your face. “Oh, goodness. I hope Papyrus returns soon with the --”

The door opened, cutting off Toriel as she spoke.


	13. Someone Should Have Invested in Some Good Background Music

“UH,” Papyrus said, framed by the gentle, pittering rain. A pair of plastic sacks dangled from his red gloved hands. “CRANE - “

Toriel cut him off with the smoothness of a trained mother. “Papyrus, would you be so kind as to go upstairs and begin running Crane a bath?”

“UM - “

“It would be very helpful. If you leave the bags downstairs, I will administer the medicine while you are doing so.”

“--RIGHT!” Puffing himself up a bit, he looped the handles over a hook on the coat rack and then bolted up the steps, taking them two at a time. The sound of a door flying open could be heard in the distance and, about a minute after it, the unmistakable hum of running water.

A deep breath whooshed out of Toriel, tickling your hair as you snorted and snuffled and coughed a bit. “This is what we shall do. We will go to the kitchen, and I will provide some water and some tissues. Then… are you fine with swallowing pills?”

“I… I don’t… know,” you hiccuped, not totally sure what that even meant.

“...Well, we shall see. If not, do not be worried, I told Papyrus to get the kind you can drink as well - however…” You heard a certain kind of hesitance in her tone before she bolstered it with cheer. “Well, according to Frisk, that variety is highly unpalatable. But! We shall manage.”

 _Managing_ wasn’t really something you could imagine at the moment, but you took her word for it.

She lead you to the kitchen, speaking soothing words to you all the while. Bit by bit, your crying abated, and then came the apologies - you didn’t know what had happened to you, you didn’t _do_ that, it was strange, you didn’t understand and you were, of course, very sorry.

Over and over again, she repeated that it was fine, there was no need to be ashamed of anything at all. Her voice was so kind and sincere that you started to believe her and you quieted, some, though she still kept your cheek pressed against her side with an arm.

“Now, I could not help but noticing that your apparel is not… exactly… clean. Papyrus offered to lend you a change of clothes in a similar arrangement to the one you had before… how does that sound? I can wash your outfit while you rest.”

You mulled this over for a long time, the clinking of glassware and the quiet sloshing of tap water weaving between your thoughts. Plastic crinkled, and she found a small, cardboard box among the items inside, slitting it open with a finger as she waited for your reply.

“...Okay,” you finally said, and she smiled as she placed a fat, blue pill next to the glass of water.

“Very well! Now - goodness, this is a bit tricky… try taking a sip of water, then put this in your mouth… and then swallow everything at once. Do you think you can do that?”

You reached for both objects. “I’ll try.”

It was a strange thing, the _pill_ , and it honestly didn’t seem like something you should be putting in your mouth. You trusted Toriel, however, so you obeyed her instructions - or at least, followed them as well as you could. It took a few tries to get the medicine down, but after some hacking and a few more sips of water, you managed it.

With a huge paw, Toriel gently patted the top of your head, and the touch was oddly comforting. “Soon, you will feel very sleepy. That is a side effect of the medicine; do not be alarmed when it happens. Now… let us go see how Papyrus is doing.”

A weird curl of dread filled you, born from awkwardness and anxious trepidation. It - wasn’t that you _didn’t_ want to, this was all just… scary and new. It felt like everything could go wrong at any second, and, as Toriel took your hand and lead you along, you wondered how people dealt with these things all the time. Did they have something intrinsic quality that you lacked? Would you get used to it over time, as you stayed awake? Interacted with people?

Toriel squeezed your fingers, looking back at you as you arrived at the food of the stairs. “Can you walk up on your own?”

You nodded as firmly as you could. It was a meager task, but being able to accomplish it would prove something. A little something, yes, but… wasn’t there a saying about starting small?

It had to do with… babies, maybe?

Papyrus awaited on the second floor, and it was a pity there wasn’t any wind, because his posture seemed ready-made for billowing. “WELCOME!” He announced, a hand placed over the breast of his stylish shirt. “I HAVE FLUFFED THE TOWELS, AIRED OUT THE SHOWER CURTAIN, AND FILLED THE BATH WITH ONLY THE MOST LUXURIOUS OF HEATED WATERS! EVERYTHING HAS BEEN MADE READY FOR YOU, DEAR GUEST!”

Toriel let out a soft laugh. “Ah, dependable as always. Can I trust you to make her comfortable afterwards? Put her to bed, read her a story... that sort of thing?”

“SHE SHALL MAKE EVERY PIG IN THE WORLD JEALOUS WITH THE SNUGNESS OF HER BLANKETS! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, ASSURE IT!” He practically glowed with confidence, and Toriel smiled as she urged you into the bathroom.

“Very good. I will be in the kitchen should you have need of anything!” With a final pat to your head, Toriel withdrew, leaving you alone with Papyrus. You curled your toes, feeling the cool tiles on your feet, and glanced up at him.

The intensity of his smile had been taken down a few notches, and he lingered there, in the doorway, looking down at you. “ARE - …” He trailed off, uncertainty in his tone. “ARE YOU GOING TO BE ALRIGHT?”

Your gaze dropped, and you nodded - and you felt his hands on your shoulders right after, a gentle pressure that made your chest feel funny, tingling with guilt and something else you couldn’t quite describe. “PLEASE DON’T DO THAT.”

“Do… what?”

“YOU GET QUIET AND START THINKING ABOUT BAD THINGS. YOU CAN… TELL ME WHAT THEY ARE. OR - WELL, I SUPPOSE IF YOU REALLY DON’T WANT TO YOU DON’T HAVE TO BUT REALLY I -...” He trailed off again, looking remarkably unconfident. “...SORRY. I SHOULD PROBABLY LEAVE YOU TO YOUR SCRUBBING AND WASHING.”

“...I was… actually just going to put my feet in the water,” you admitted, showing him how dirty your soles were. Refusing to wear shoes did that to you. “So you don’t have to leave.”

“OH.” He paused, examining you for a moment. “WELL. YOU MIGHT WANT TO AT LEAST WASH YOUR FACE. IT’S, ER.”

“...It’s that bad?”

“UM. FROM WHAT I CAN TELL, IT’S A BIT HARD WITH THE, WELL. THE MASK. ...DO YOU WANT TO TAKE THAT OFF?”

“No,” you replied immediately and with complete certainty.

“I PROMISE I WOULDN’T LOOK.”

You drifted into silence, not quite sure of your own feelings of the matter, and Papyrus seemed to take that as a ‘maybe later’, because he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “HERE… SIT DOWN, AT LEAST. THERE IS NO NEED TO FIGHT GRAVITY WHILE YOU ARE ILL!”

“...Fight… gravity?” You mumbled, settling down on the flat basin of the tub and swirling your feet in the water.

He sat beside you, his legs angled away from his body. “AH - IT JUST MEANS… THAT YOU’RE STANDING. SORT OF.”

“Ah.”

There was a contemplative pause, filled only with soft splishes and spashes as you kicked your feet lightly. The wet fabric of your pants clung to your skin, but it didn't bother you any.

“...Crane,” Papyrus began, lowering his voice to a serious hum. “Why were you crying?”

Plish, splish. You weren’t sure how to answer that question, but Papyrus waited patiently, as he always did. When you finally began, it was slow, uncertain, punctuated by pauses and the occasional bout of coughing. “I felt… bad. About a lot of things. That I hurt you… that I’m useless and can’t do anything by myself, and you had to come get me… And then I ate something that I hadn’t had in a really, really long time, not since I…” You fiddled with the edges of your glove. “...Since I felt… that things were alright. And. It was… too much.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, much like it was a form of punctuation. “I didn’t want you to have to take care of me. I don’t want to be completely reliant on other people anymore. I want… to be someone you can be proud of, but I…”

You closed your eyes. “I don’t know how…”

“You - oh… gosh,” He hugged you with unmistakable confidence. “You’re not useless, and I’m _already_ so proud of you. And there’s no shame in needing help! You’re sick! Why, even the great Papyrus sometimes needs someone to take care of him when he’s not feeling so… great.”

“But people have to take care of me all the time, and I don’t want to be that sort of person anymore. I want…” It felt weird actually saying it, but you did it anyway, forcing the words out. “I want to wake up.”

For his sake. For Sans’ sake. For everyone’s sake.

And… for your own, too.

Papyrus didn’t say anything immediately, just holding you and rubbing your back. Then, eventually, he bowed his head and said, “I’m sorry.”

That threw you a little. “For… what?”

“When, um. When I saw that you weren’t feeling well and that you hadn’t come to me for help, I felt… kind of betrayed? And I was frustrated, too, because I just wanted to help, and… I thought you didn’t trust me. But I didn’t think about your feelings, and that you might be feeling bad, too. So... thank you for telling me about it.” He raised his hand to your hair, burying it among the white strands. “I understand a lot better now. Would you like some help?”

“...Help? With what?”

“With being independent.”

“You wish to help me be independent,” you said flatly, because even you were aware of the irony in that statement.

Papyrus beamed. “Accomplishing goals is like running a race! A long one, where you have to pace yourself! Also, you don’t have to just worry about actually running, but also about your surroundings too! Right now, you’re running your race through a forest while being chased by bears. Before you can even work on finishing, you need to start clearing the forest and also realize that the bears aren’t actually bears. More like... very angry rabbits. Well, er, unless… you do actually have some bears chasing you, and.... That’s one of the many things I'll help you out with!"

"Um. I… don’t think I have any bears chasing me."

“Er, sorry. The bears are metaphorical. Regardless! Things like fear, anxiety... you shouldn’t have to deal with alone, right? You don’t tell someone who’s lost in the woods to ‘tough it out. You’re independent!’ right? You go help them because it’s hard to find your way home when you’re lost.”

“I think it’s really admirable that you have a goal. Everyone needs goals… and I desperately wish to see you be happy and comfortable with yourself! But…  achieving big goals like that isn’t an easy thing, and you don’t need to accomplish them alone. Or all at once, for that matter!” He eased you away a little so he could look you in the eyes. “First and foremost, take care of yourself, and don’t be ashamed about letting other people help you when you need it. You don’t have to get out of the woods by yourself… alright?”

You wriggled a little bit in thought. “How… did you get so good at all of this? Were you always…?”

Papyrus looked over into the water. “No. No one’s born great, not even the Great Papyrus! Though Sans sometimes disagrees. Heh.” A fond smile came to his face, and he shifted his attention back to you. “I mean… I’ve told you, haven’t I? I wasn’t perfect when I was younger, and I’m not perfect now. You don’t have to be perfect. Just be… you, because you is the best thing you can be.

You thought for awhile more, absorbing this.... and it was then that the exhaustion really started to sink in. Toriel had been right abou the medicine. “Hey, Papyrus? Could you look away?”

“Um, sure, but wh-- Oh! OH! YES! OF COURSE.”

HE let out a somewhat awkward cough and angled his body completely away from yours, studiously looking at the door. “I CAN LEAVE IF YOU WANT.”

“That’s not necessary. Besides, there’s something else I’d like to ask you.”

“O-Oh. UM. CERTAINLY? WHAT’S ON YOUR MIND?”

Slowly, you lowered yourself completely into the bath, letting yourself get completely soaked… and then, with a careful motion, you eased off your mask, setting it lengthwise along the basin. Taking time to think of how to phrase your question, you washed your face first, sinking it into the warm water and wiping away the collected grime from your nose and eyes. In hindsight, it had really been a necessary task, and you felt much better afterwards - like the congestion had run out of you, washed away by the purity of the water.

Once more, you dived down, wetting your hair - and then you spoke.

“Papyrus, are you in love with me?

You began working some of the dirt and sticks out of your hair, rubbing the strands clean with your gloved hands. 

“UH,” Papyrus said. “WHAT?”

You repeated your question word-for-word, and then tacked on, at the end, “In the dating way, I mean. Do you want to date me?” 

“UH,” Papyrus said again, his voice a bit strangled - which was something you might have been a bit too tired to notice. “UH. I… THOUGHT YOU DIDN’T KNOW WHAT DATING WAS.”

You shrugged slightly, a sound that made the water slosh. “Sometimes I pretend I don’t know what people are talking about because it’s easier than actually dealing with it.”

“....WOWIE. YOU REALLY ARE LIKE SANS.”

Scrunching your nose a little, you thought about your conversation with him. “You’re like Sans too. You’re not answering my question.”

“ER. UH. I. WHAT... WHAT BROUGHT THIS ON?”

Deciding you could at least do him that courtesy, you answered as plainly as possible. ‘I’m terrified that you’re trying to help me because you’re in love with me, and that I’ll end up disappointing and hurting you because I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.”

Papyrus took a deep, deep breath, and then let it out slowly. “YOU KNOW, I DIDN’T THINK THIS WAS HOW IT WAS GOING TO GO, BUT… OH WELL! THIS WORKS. YES. I DON’T KNOW WHEN I STARTED FEELING LIKE THIS, BUT THERE ARE LOTS OF THINGS IT’D BE REALLY FUN TO DO WITH YOU - LIKE… GO ON DATES! AND CUDDLE! AND HOLD HANDS! BUT… I WANT YOU TO KNOW SOMETHING VERY, VERY IMPORTANT.”

You looked up at his back, hair dripping as he spoke. “I AM COMPLETELY AND ABSOLUTELY HAPPY TO BE IN THE FRIENDZONE. SURE, IT’D BE NICE TO BE IN THE DATEZONE, BUT… THAT’S NOT WHY I WANT TO HELP YOU, AND IT’S NOT WHY I LIKE SPENDING TIME WITH YOU. YOU’RE MY _FRIEND_ , AND I LIKE BEING WITH YOU BECAUSE YOU’RE _YOU_ , NOT BECAUSE I’M SECRETLY HOPING THAT IF I HELP YOU ENOUGH AND THEN YOU’LL WANT TO DATE ME. THAT’D…. THAT’D BE REALLY WEIRD! I WOULDN’T DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT.”

“SO ...PLEASE DON'T WORRY ABOUT STUFF LIKE THAT, OKAY? IT ISN’T LIKE PUTTING ‘BOY’ ON ‘FRIEND’ MAKES IT SUPER ULTRA-SPECIAL, OR SOMETHING. BOTH ARE GOOD THINGS. FRIENDSHIP IS IMPORTANT! SUPER IMPORTANT! THAT’S ONE OF THE THINGS THAT ALPHYS’ HUMAN HISTORY DOCUMENTS GETS PRETTY SPOT-ON I THINK. FRIENDSHIP CAN SAVE THE WORLD! EVEN IF IT’S JUST ONE PERSON’S WORLD.”

“SO, UM.” He struggled with his words for a moment. “DOES… DOES THAT ANSWER YOUR QUESTION?”

After sitting in silence for a time, you reached out for your mask, slipping it over your face again. “Will you look at me?”

He did so immediately, casting his gaze down at you, there, submerged in the water with your hands on your knees. “YOU’RE A LITTLE SILLY, YOU KNOW. WILL YOU EVER TELL ME WHY THOSE COLORS ARE SO IMPORTANT?”

You thought this over slowly. It was so hard to _think_ , and it felt like every time you blinked, you were in danger of falling asleep. “Um… I think… sometime I will. But I don’t know when.” A pause. “I’m really confused, about a lot of things.”

Papyrus reached out to pat your head, looking a little exhausted himself. “”IT’S ALRIGHT. YOU’LL FIGURE IT ALL OUT, I’M SURE. I BELIEVE IN YOU.”

Slowly, you eased yourself over, leaning your cheek against him. “There’s one thing I’m certain of, though.”

Pat, pat. “AND WHAT WOULD THAT BE?”

“You're the person I like the most." 

“O-...OH. UM. WELL. OF COURSE YOU DO! I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AFTER ALL. NYEH! HEH! ...HEH.”

Silence. “...CRANE, PLEASE DON’T FALL ASLEEP, YOU CAN’T SLEEP IN WET CLOTHES AND YOU’D REALLY HATE ALL THE ALTERNATIVES.”

“Mmn,” you mumbled a little, not properly responding.

“SIGH!” Papyrus said, as in.... actually said, and then he put his hands underneath your shoulders. “OKAY. UP YOU GO. HEAVE-HO!”

After some splashing and struggling, Papyrus got you out of the tub and on your feet, and - with a considerable amount of prodding - roused you enough that you could change into the RAD-LEMON T-Shirt Papyrus had brought for you. The lemon was wearing sunglasses. You saw fit to comment on that through the door. 

Papyrus had laughed and said he was glad you apreciated such Cool material.

When you emerged, you found that Toriel had brought up the plush toy Undyne got for you, and, immediately, you picked it up and cradled it in your arms. Papyrus had asked what it’s name was, and you said that birds didn’t have names, and that you’d just call it Crane.

“But you’re Crane,” he said, and you shrugged. You were here first; it could be Crane 2.

Papyrus accepted that without comment, and then put you and Crane 2 to bed, making sure to deliver on his promise of making you the snuggest wizard in the entire world. And, looking down at you as you immediately fell asleep, he knew two things.

One - although your bluntness was extremely charming, it was also like riding a roller coaster and he really needed some hot cocoa right now.

  
And two - no matter what came of it, he was... so, so happy to be someone's _favourite person._


	14. The End of the Prism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have another conversation with Sans. It goes... about as well as you'd expect.

You woke up to the sound of soft tapping, and, in something of a daze, you pried yourself out from underneath the covers and went to the window.

It was dark, quiet; you couldn’t hear anything beyond the soft breathing by the bedside, and that realization made you look back, squinting slightly in the murky gloom. Right. You remembered now. You’d gotten sick, Papyrus had taken care of you... And, apparently, he hadn’t found it in himself to leave, because he was there still, arms crossed on the covers and head tucked into the crook of his elbow. Not that you were one to comment, but that really didn’t look comfortable.

Another little knock distracted you, and you broke your gaze away from him, turning it back and humming softly in surprise at what you saw beyond the glass. From the noise, you’d expected it to be a bird - one of your owls, perhaps, or an insomnia ridden crow - but, no, you hadn’t even gotten the species correct.

Perched on the windowsill was Inquisitor Legbiter.

You eased it open slowly, basking in the breaths of cool spring air slipping through the gap. It curled around your sweaty, fever-ridden body - though it should be said you felt far better than before, able now to at least attempt advanced thought. “Hello,” you softly greeted, stepping out out of his way. “Am I needed?”

He snorted, swinging his legs over the ledge and finding a more comfortable position for himself. “No, no. You can rest. I came to check up on you; how’re you feeling?”

“I no longer want to tear my face off. I think that’s progress?”

“Sounds like it.” There was vague amusement in his tone, and he took you in with a contemplative look. “Just a cold, then? Nothing more dire?”

You shook your head, and this seemed to put him slightly more at ease… though, you could tell there was still something else on his mind. The specifics became clear when he vaguely gestured at the room and asked, “Mind if I ask what all… _this_ is about?”

“Um.” You felt your mind go blank. It occurred to you suddenly that, you know... the Primus might, considering how protective he was of you, be less-than-delighted about your recent associations with the monsters. It wasn’t a feeling you understood, as his history - and the history of his people - were not the same as yours - but... still. You couldn't ignore it, considering the circumstances, and you wondered how long Legbiter had been waiting to bring this all up.

You, however, didn’t know what to say. How could you describe it? How could you even begin to describe it?  What did he expect; how much did he know? What was he feeling? And - what were you feeling?

You didn’t know, so it was impossible for you to engage in this conversation like a person would. Instead, you trailed off, looking over at Papyrus with uncertainty clouding your features.

Legbiter’s expression glittered with slight amusement. “Well, that’s alright. They’re not hurting you, I trust? Making you uncomfortable?”

Quickly, you shook your head, and you pointed over at Papyrus. “He’d do anything to keep me from being hurt,” you said with complete confidence, proclaiming the truth as was your right.

“I’ll trust your judgement, then." He shrugged, and you were somewhat surprised about how easily he let the matter drop. Maybe there was something going on you didn’t know about? “Is there anything you need? If not, I should head off. I told the Primus I’d be home soon, and he’s probably getting antsy already.”

Though you didn’t really know what _antsy_ meant, it seemed like the kind of word that’d apply to that man, and you felt faint amusement as you shook your head. Accepting this, Legbiter ducked back underneath the frame of the window, readying himself to jump back onto the ground.

“Then I’ll see you later. Rest up, and…” He grinned, placing a single finger over his mouth. “I’ll keep quiet about this. Don’t worry.”

You watched him fall into the darkness, and then - slowly - you shut the window, the moonlight falling across your cheek and settling into the soft curls of your hair. It had been a short conversation, but the circumstances had made you introspective. It was true, Papyrus would do anything to protect you, but...

Did he really know what he was trying to protect?

(You stood in the faint light and thought. After a time - having come to no real conclusions - you returned to bed, although this time you took off the top sheet, draping it around Papyrus like a cape before you went to sleep yourself)

 

* * *

 

The next day, you felt (somewhat) better, and by the afternoon you’d decided that you’d had enough of being fretted over, thank you. Being indoors for too long made you very, very uncomfortable, and Papyrus had ceded when he heard that very particular glint in your voice that indicated he should probably stop pushing the matter.

And, well. He also had work, so there was that.

You thanked Toriel for her aid and Papyrus for… well, his _him-_ ness, and you returned to the park, where, for once, you decided to stay awake and think. This was how Sans found you a few hours later, perched among the leaves and musing over various matters while the birds chittered around you.

“hey,” his voice rising up from its lounge to greet you. “‘sup?”

You looked down at him and, deciding that you really, really didn't feel like having a conversation from that amount of distance, you clambered down and landed on the grass with a soft thud. “Hello, Sans. How’ve you been?”

“oh, y’know. same old, same old. nothing too special. you, on the other hand, are looking particularly mobile today.” His grin oozed across his face, and you felt odd.

“Am I?” You defied his assertion by settling on the grass. This was going to be one of  _those_ conversations, wasn't it?

It occurred to you that you hadn’t seen him once while you were over at their house. Hmn.

“yeah. chipper as a chickadee, i’d say. i kinda expected you to be passed out, maybe in, say, that very attractive, very cozy looking spot of grass over there. the one right in the sun. looks real nice.”

You peered at him as he stood there beside you, his hands in his pockets and his smile thoroughly forced. What, exactly, had you done to upset him? Your gut instinct told you that, given his earlier comment, it had something to do with your newly acquired determination. But... why?

“It does,” was your mild reply, and you patted the ground next to you. “Please, speak your mind. it's a little exhausting having to guess everything.”

Sans heaved out a heavy sigh, easing himself down. “you’re… you’re really gonna do this, huh? you’re going to change yourself... even if it means sacrificing the happiness we have now. even if it means forcing yourself to become something that you’d never, ever wanted to be.”

Oh, so  _that's_ what this was about. He really had interpreted you oddly, hadn't he? 

“Sans,” you said patiently, propping your arms on your knees. “Just because I want to be a little more self-sufficient doesn’t mean I’ve suddenly decided to bear the mantle of godhood.”

“uh.” A pause. “what?”

“It’s true that I want to change myself, and… I…” You took a moment to look at your gloved hands. “I want to wake up. But, no. I haven't decided to become a god. I just want to be a person worthy of Papyrus’ - no, _everyone’s_ \- affection. I want to have some influence over the events to come. I want to have worth as a human being, and I wish to - as a mortal - bring about a happy ending."

After a deep sigh, you finished, “I have no idea how to bring any of this about, but I shall, at the very least, try.”

When you looked over at him, you didn’t see him relax like you expected. His hands remained clenched, his shoulders tense, and there was a vague sort of hollow darkness to his eyes that he tried to squash down immediately upon realizing it'd become visible.

He turned to you with a smile, but it was far too late. “What is it, Sans?” You asked, giving him the chance to offer it willingly before you dragged it out of him.

His tone was pristine in its joviality. “huh? what do you mean? i was just about to say that i’m proud of you, buddy. i’m… glad you want to be human, and that you’re thinking about your own happiness. just, y’know - stay safe, okay?”

Well, it seems like you’d have to do this the hard way.

If Sans’ reaction hadn’t been because he thought you were going to become a god, then… what? What else was he afraid of?

You knew the idea of your death weighed heavily on him. But why, exactly, would he be so terrified of that outcome? Sure, it made sense that if you decided to get involved in the cataclysmic events he'd mentioned before, there'd be a significant risk to you, but… somehow, while that did explain things, it still didn’t feel quite right.

He’d looked completely _hopeless_ in that moment. What, exactly, had happened? What about what you’d said had upset him so?

_I wish to - as a mortal - bring about a happy ending._

Wait.

“Sans,” you said, realizing something in a sudden flash. “You told me I’d said there was no perfect solution. You didn’t say anything at all about _imperfect_ solutions.”

He looked at you, and you looked at him, and he broke, then, covering his hands with his face and whispering, “ _fuck.”_

You kept talking, because you couldn’t stop, not at this point. It was like you'd fallen into a pit of truth, and it wouldn't end until you struck the bottom. “You’re not just worried about me becoming a god, are you? I mean - it’s so unlikely. I hate the idea so much, and, while it makes sense that you’re trying to protect me from knowing about what I _could_ do... there’s something else, isn’t there?”

“ _don’t say it,_ ” he practically begged, and on that quiet spring day, Sans was brought near to tears. “don’t make me hear you say it again. it’s hard enough knowing that there’s a solution to all this, y’know? and that it’d just take a single sacrifice, one that Frisk would be willing to make. Pap, Toriel, Undyne, Alphys… if it was anyone else, i wouldn’t be afraid at all. i’d just be hopeless.”

“but - “ He let out a deep, shuddering breath. “Frisk doesn't give a shit about you, Crane, they’re too scared shitless of you to even try to get to know you. how do you think it feels? to be told that,  _'sans, if I died, none of this would have to happen. The world would be saved, and everyone could be at peace.'_ how do you think it feels to be asked to  _figure out why?_ cuz you just know the solution, obviously, you don’t know why it works. in the final hours of a failed timeline, how do you think it feels to be asked, s _ans, please, figure out the truth?_ here's the answer - it sucks! it sucks so much!”

“i can’t even keep track of this shit anymore. i don’t even know what went wrong that time - i think Undyne died fighting the inquisitor or something? i dunno what to do, Crane. you dying - it’s… just… i’m not okay with that, y’know? some days a guy has to wake up and say, _what am i willing to put up with today?_ and not that, Crane. i’m not fucking willing to put up with that.”

For a moment, you were stunned. You'd been right. The 'imperfect solution' you'd divined involved your own death. “...What were the specifics? Was the condition for success simply that I need to die? Would… say… me killing myself right here and now ensure that this timeline is a good one?”

“holy shit, what’s wrong with you? don’t say that!” There was an odd kind of desperation in his voice, one that you’d never heard before - and you realized you were being a bit too clinical about the matter.

He didn’t know your heart, didn’t know what you were thinking, so of course he’d be afraid.

Taking him by the shoulders, you pulled him into a sprawling hug. “Sans, calm down and listen to me.”

You felt him stiffen, and then - gradually - relax against you in an exhausted heap. He fit fairly comfortably on your lap, being short just like you were, and you tucked his head underneath your chin. “this is a bit of a role-reversal for you, huh? i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to get so worked up. i just…”

He shuddered, and it came spilling out. “you always get sick around the same time. i usually swing by to… y’know, see how you’re doing. but this time, you weren’t even here, and i knew… well. i could guess what was going on in your head. if you're sleeping... you're safe. y'know? you're easy to protect if you stay still. so when i saw you weren't there, i..."

You ran your gloved hand over the back of his head, easing you both against the tree. “I’m so sorry, Sans. I didn’t realize just how much you were suffering.”

“don’t kick yourself for it. i didn’t want you to know. that - that was a previous timeline. you shouldn’t have to deal with it.” His voice was quiet, serious - it seemed that, for the moment, he was stripped of his dishonestly.

“...I do, though. I want to fix things. I don’t want you to have to suffer anymore - and I want everyone to get their happy ending too. I… want one for myself,” you admitted, looking off into the unseeable distance. “I’m scared, I feel like I’m going to mess up and ruin everything, but still - but I want the _chance_ to do those things.”

There was a long silence where you simply held Sans, letting him hide his face on your shoulder. He didn’t cry - at least, if he did, it was too subtle for you to tell - but you could tell he wanted some time to let the smile drop.

It was so hard to lie to you, after all.

“:...i don’t really want to enable this bullshit,” he said after a time. “but i can answer some of your questions, i guess.”

You thought this over, trying to figure out where to begin. “What did I say, exactly? what were the conditions behind my death?”

There was a sulky silence from Sans, who clearly didn’t want to entertain the thought at all. “you had to get killed by someone in particular.”

“Who was it?”

“...a woman called the cerebrum,” Sans said with the bitterness of someone discussing a person who'd repeatedly killed his friends. “if she kills you, Frisk will end up winning. dunno why.”

“How much do you know about her?”

“not a lot. Frisk knows more, i think, but they’re not going to tell me - and _you_ are not gonna ask. understand?”

“Completely.” You sighed, your breath brushing across the top of his skull. “The Cerebrum… she’s the one you mentioned before? The one who wants to end the world?”

“yeah. couldn’t tell you why. my bet’s on terrible childhood, but, hey. maybe she just went crazy. humans have some really weird baggage.” 

You couldn’t really disagree with that, and you lapsed into another period of thought. Sans hadn’t yet tried to move, and you weren’t inclined to loosen your grip, either. “...Her position being ruined by my death is completely counter-intuitive. You’d think it would be the opposite. But… Sans.”

He grunted in vague acknowledgement.

“I intend to live. I intend to find meaning in my existence as a human. To do that - we need a future. All of us. Will you help me find one?”

“Crane,” he began, sounding exhausted. “you’ve already said one doesn’t exist. what’s the point?”

“...I can’t accept that. I’ve thought about it, over and over again - and I absolutely cannot accept it. Human beings are creatures of miracles; I’ve experienced that firsthand. Knowing that - I have to believe there's a miracle out there for us. One that even I couldn't have possibly anticipated."

“...i don’t… get how you can be that hopeful. but… i guess… i don’t really have much of a choice. you’re stubborn, and you’re gonna do what you’re gonna do, so i guess all i can do is try to keep you out of trouble.”

“So… you’ll help?”

“i mean, i dunno. i wouldn’t call it helping. more like… tolerating your bullshit.” Though his words were sulky, he rubbed his forehead against your shoulder in something like affection.

“Well, that’s enough for now, I suppose.” Your legs were starting to fall asleep under Sans’ weight, but you weren’t going to tell him that. Instead, you patted his back lightly. “We can discuss this more later. There’s something else I wanted to ask you.”

“oh. great. okay, let’s pull the lapbar down on this roller coaster. what’ve you got for me?”

You ignored whatever Sans’ odd idiom meant, instead saying, “I’d like your permission to do something.”

With a voice filled with extreme trepidation, Sans said, “...okay?”

Though you had thought long and hard about how to phrase this, you still had to pause before actually saying, “I would… like for Papyrus to know who - and what - I actually am. Would you be upset if I took him to work with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are some weird times ahead for Papyrus... and... maybe you all will FINALLY get some answers?
> 
> I've decided to open writing commissions! You can find more information here.
> 
> http://glitterbark.tumblr.com/post/145689624291/writing-commissions
> 
> is there something you'd just LOVE to see me write??? pay me, and i'll totally do it! (unless it's Super Gross then I'll probably have to refuse lmao.)


	15. And As in Uffish Thought He Stood, The Jabberwock, With Eyes of Flame

The hotel before you was something of an architectural travesty, being a hot-pink, boot-shaped building drenched in flashing lights and flickering billboards that all, unanimously, displayed images of Mettaton’s face. You’d only recently become acquainted with the robotic superstar, but, somehow, New and Improved™ MTT Resort’s design didn’t surprise you in the least, and you sat there, watching the entire spectrum oscillate over the expansive windows with a mixture of horror and fascination.

The glimmering building provided substantial illumination in the growing dark, and you swung your legs, observing the people - mainly monsters - going about their business. Occasionally, one or two of them would stop to say hello, ask if they could help you find anything - and you always said no. It was fine.

You were waiting for someone.

Honestly, saying that was a little surreal. It wasn’t often that you sat around waiting for people; it wasn’t your habit to show up _first._ People waited around for you, not the other way around, and, perhaps, that was something you’d always taken for granted. Fidgeting, you looked up at the darkening sky beyond the bulb of the street-light hanging above you, and wondered if this was just another part of acting human, of making connections with other people.

Perhaps the simple act of _waiting_ for Papyrus tied you to him in a way you’d never experienced before.

For some reason, you found yourself feeling… a little embarrassed, though you blamed most of it on your nerves. For so long, you’d kept the _day_ and the _night_ separate within yourself - and in some respects, you became an entirely different person when the sun set. The only time you had any worth was when the moon lay claim to the sky, and, paradoxically, was the time when you felt the _least_ like you.

In the hazy murkiness of the night, even something as small and weak as _you_ could bear the raiment of a god.

...It was like a parlor wizard’s illusion, or like the rest of the world had gone mad, and, having seen a scant glimpse of you in the fog, raised you up into something mysterious, something divine. Was this what the bear who became Bigfoot felt like? Like a liar, a fake, a fraud?

Like an impostor who would disappoint anyone who looked too closely…?

(‘The hope of all humans’, you’d been called once, and yet, _how could you possibly -_ )

“CRANE!” Papyrus called out with the impeccably good timing that had become one of his hallmarks, and you looked up from your hands, hearing the click-click of his shoes as he rushed up to you. “I’M SORRY I’M LATE! METTATON WANTED TO TALK TO ME ABOUT SOMETHING.”

“It’s fine - we still have time,” you replied, looking him up and down as he settled before you. For once, Papyrus looked more like a prince than a superhero, wearing a bright red dress jacket, pristine black bowtie and shoes so shiny that they reflected your wonder-filled face. You couldn’t help but comment. “That’s… new.”

Papyrus grinned down at you, adjusting his white gloves before offering a hand to help you up. “I WEAR IT AT WORK. METTATON SAYS IT MAKES US LOOK VERY DAPPER.”

Curious, you took his hand between yours, peering at the seams and the detailing of the stitching. “I’m not the best judge of such matters, but you are handsome. Is Mettaton alright, by the way? I’ve been worried.”

He watched you for a moment, turning a mysterious shade of orange that blended in with the deepening sunset. “AH, ER, YES. HE’S IN PRIME CONDITION, NOW! FULL OF ENERGY. THERE’S NO NEED TO FRET!”

You nodded, pleased with this, and then shifted the topic. “It there anything you need to do before we go?”

“NOT THAT I CAN THINK OF! THOUGH… YOU HAVEN’T ACTUALLY TOLD ME WHAT WE’RE DOING. IS IT A SURPRISE? I LOVE SURPRISES… ESPECIALLY THE ONES WITH BALLOONS AND FIREWORKS!” That keenness of his expression reminded you of the party he’d helped arrange, and you were saddened that tonight’s venture was not nearly so… joyful.

It didn’t help that, even though you’d thought about it for hours, you _still_ couldn’t find a suitable way to lay bare your heart to him. “It’s… complicated,” you meekly replied, feeling quite useless - though Papyrus didn’t seem to be bothered by it.

“HMN! WELL, IN MY MANY GRAND ADVENTURES, I’VE ENCOUNTERED NUMEROUS COMPLICATED THINGS - AND, IN MY EXPERIENCE, IT ALWAYS HELPS TO BREAK THEM DOWN INTO LITTLE BITS! THAT’S WHY TEXTBOOKS HAVE CHAPTERS, FOR EXAMPLE,  AND WHY STEAKS ARE PAIRED WITH KNIVES.”

You thought about that for a moment. “Are steaks complicated? I’ve never eaten one.”

“THEY’RE SURPRISINGLY TRICKSY!” Papyrus nodded sagely before looking down at you, and it was then that you realized you were still holding his hand.

On its own, it wasn’t unpleasant - the feeling was vaguely hug-like, and it offered you a comfort similar to his embrace - but you’d also seen _couples_ doing this, and the idea of giving him the wrong impression terrified you. With a snap, you let go, your hand and his falling away from each other like leaves breaking away from a tree.

Papyrus’ expression softened a bit in worry, but he was sensitive enough to not press the matter. “WELL, I CAN JUST SEE FOR MYSELF.”

“No, I’ll try,” you insisted, determined to do this properly. “Simply put, someone has arranged to meet me, and I’d like you to watch as I perform a service for them.”

“I SEE. WHAT SORT OF SERVICE?”

You looked up at the sky, glimmering and glittering in unnamable constellations. “Papyrus - what do you know of the Beast?”

In a moment of quiet contemplation, Papyrus stuck his thumbs in his pockets, shifting his weight as he looked away from you. “I ASKED SANS ABOUT IT, ONCE. HE SAID THAT IT WAS… THE HUMAN TERM FOR ‘LOVE’, AND IT’S WHY HUMANS CAN BE PRETTY… BAD. SOMETIMES.”

“Love?” you repeated, and the word trailed behind you as you began to walk. It would be untoward to be late, after all, you should walk as you talked.

“NO, NO, LOVE - OH. DRAT. Here,” he softened his voice for a bit, closing the gap between the two of you and joining you right by your side. “LOVE. Do you hear the difference? It means _level of violence,_ and it’s used to, er. Qualify how easy it is for someone to hurt another person, like a measurement of how hardened your soul has become to the pain of others. “ Fidget. The topic clearly made him uncomfortable, and you were sympathetic.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for the conversation. “Sans’ assessment doesn’t sound inaccurate, but I’m unfamiliar with the nuances of the word, so I’ll leave you to judge. The Beast… is a term that magi use to describe a curse that has plagued their people for centuries, passed down to them by the crimes of their Queen - or, at least. That’s how the story goes. In truth… it might be easier to think of it as an unfortunate byproduct of a wizard’s power to dream. Do you know how human magic works?”

“I… did some looking, but it’s hard to find out any real information.” He glanced at you. “Wizards seem, uh… disinclined to make information about their art publicly available, and I’ve been craftily foiled in my attempts to speak with one personally.”

“Foiled. That’s an interesting way to put it,” you commented idly, and Papyrus heaved a great sigh.

“Yes, well. It’s an interesting situation. Toriel suggested contacting someone by the appellation of _Many-Names,_ for they’re both knowledgeable and friendly to monsters. However! My attempts to do so were subverted...” Papyrus side-eyed you, as if delivering an important and ominous revelation. _“By mine own brother.”_

“Really,” you intoned, your voice flatter than the corn fields of Ohio. “I’m shocked. Sans, trying to keep secrets?”

Papyrus’ eyes practically sparkled as he exclaimed, “CRANE! WAS THAT _SARCASM?”_

You canted your head and contemplated this. “I suppose so. How intriguing.”

Papyrus laughed then, a short, delighted cackle that tapered off into a fond shake of his head. “I LOVE MY BROTHER DEARLY, BUT HE’S GOT A BAD HABIT OF ALWAYS THINKING HIMSELF THE CLEVEREST PERSON IN THE ROOM. IN TRUTH,” he admitted, looking away with a dampened smile. “HE’S OFTEN RIGHT, SO I DECIDED TO LET SANS HAVE HIS WAY INSTEAD OF TRYING TO PRESS THE ISSUE. IT WASN’T LIKE YOU SEEMED TO BE IN TROUBLE, SO I FIGURED… WELL. WHAT’S THE HARM IN JUST SEEING WHAT HAPPENED?”

A pause. “...YOU’RE NOT IN TROUBLE, ARE YOU?”

Your lack of an immediate reply gave Papyrus some concern, but he waited for you to get your thoughts in order before he panicked. “I won’t lie; I deal with things that are both dangerous and complicated, though… I wouldn’t necessarily call it _trouble._ ”

“IS IT SOMETHING TO DO WITH 'THE BEAST?'”

His voice was careful, as it should be, and you nodded firmly. “Human magic works off of belief. Believe something enough, and it becomes true - in that way, humans have undertaken the impossible, and have woven miracles from the earth, the soil, and the air. Humanity is powerful because they dream and because they then make those dreams reality. However…”

You looked up, finding comfort in the presence of one of your night-birds, soaring above you in the forest of geometric concrete shapes. They knew the way far better than you, and all you had to do was follow. “That also means that their hatred, pain, and _fear_ also have an astounding effect upon the world. All humans are, in some way, touched by the force we call the Beast. But only in wizards is it _called_ the Beast.”

You looked over at him. “...That is because wizards, by their very nature, are designed to make the mundane mythical. They are beings designed to _transform;_ I know that better than anyone else in the entire world. Their pain, their suffering - because of their ability to dream, it gains the darkness in their hearts a physical presence… becoming a choking force of evil that takes away the afflicted person’s virtue...”

“And… turns it demonic. Pain, hurt, cruelty - it transforms pure, innocent dreams into despair, and, in magi, this change is literal. Do you understand, Papyrus? Have you ever heard of demons?”

“I HAVE, AND I’VE HEARD THEY’RE VERY FRIGHTENING. IS… THAT WHAT WE’RE GOING TO SEE? A DEMON?”

You shook your head vibrantly; that was completely out of the question. “No. We’re… going to see someone who has not yet turned, but whose heart has been stained by the Beast all the same. Someone who is afflicted by the curse, and who needs my help before they fall.”

“SO… IT CAN BE CURED? UH - THE THING YOU CALL THE BEAST, IT CAN BE… FIXED?”

And here it was. Deep breath, and you looked around, glad that the street seemed thin of people. No wonder; you were being lead into a much more disreputable area, full of ragged buildings and condemned shacks. “...Papyrus, I must ask that you keep everything I am about to tell you very, very secret. If this knowledge were to become widely publicized… it could have dire ramifications for me. Do you understand?”

“...I do,” he replied, lowering his voice. He kept the trepidation off of his face, but you could hear a hints of it in his tone - a testament to how well you’d gotten to know the man. “I will keep your secrets, Crane. Believe me, I won’t fail you.”

“For many, many years, it was widely considered that the Beast’s corruption could be treated, but never cured. The pain of the soul…” you put your hand over your heart. “...Lingers. Friendship, love, those things keep a soul pure, they help alleviate the influence of the taint… but pain _lasts,_ and this is particularly true in magi, who consider the Beast to be their curse, to be their… punishment for the great transgressions of their Queen. And - that is still common opinion. However. I…”

“You can cure it,” Papyrus interrupted, his voice barely a breath. “You can lower a person's LV.”

“...If it makes it easier for you to put it like that, then - yes. That is what I do.” You fiddled with the beak of your mask, trying to empty yourself of your nervousness. “I can fix souls that have been stained with hate.”

Silence. Then. “...May I confirm some things, just to make sure I understand?”

“You may.”

“All humans are affected by the Beast - by LOVE - but… only wizards keep track of it, because their magic gives it a…” He waved vaguely. “Presence?”

“Yes. Honestly, most people say that the Beast is something that only affects magi, and it’s a misconception I haven’t felt the need to clear up, because it never truly… matters. That’s the reason that the Beast is such a… well. Confusing term, with so many associations. It’s associated very heavily with a painful part of history.”

“You mentioned something about a Queen. What do you mean?”

“The story I was told is that thaumaturgy - human magic - was given to humanity by a woman named Ranunculae, who ruled over magi as a Queen. After a great tragedy, she fell to madness and consumed a monster’s remains - which lead to the entire discipline of thaumaturgy to be cursed due to her crimes. But… that doesn’t entirely make sense. Or, rather, if there is a curse, it feels like it’s only part of the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

You scrunched your nose in thought, though it couldn’t be seen underneath your mask. “Well. I am a thaumaturge - of that there can be no doubt. But… I’m not affected by the Beast. Obviously, it can’t be a natural consequence of thaumaturgy, or I wouldn’t be immune. I wouldn’t be ‘pure’.”

Papyrus stopped suddenly, looking down at you. “Crane,” he said urgently, the light of some realization burning within him. “You said that all humans were affected by LOVE - the Beast, whatever you want to call it. But you’re immune?”

“Yes,” you answered slowly, stopping a few paces away and looking up at him. Your birds had gathered near a decrepit house, sitting on the rotted sill and lurking on the sham of its roof. Something about it might have struck you odd, had you the facility to pay attention - but you didn’t, really, because you were too focused on Papyrus.

“And you said that LOVE is a human condition.” He strode forward, putting his hands on your shoulders. “It’s something that affects _all_ humans.”

“Yes,” you repeated. “It does not seem to be a side effect of magic, but, rather, of humanity.”

“Then.” He stared down at you, his fingers gripped tightly on your shoulder. “Then. You’re immune because - “

He cut himself off sharply, but you knew that he knew, and you could see the shock on his face as things began to click together piece by piece, as if he had finally figured out how two sections of a jigsaw puzzle fit together and now he was suddenly confronted with a large swath of the completed picture. His mouth moved as he stared at you, at your strange mode of dress, thinking back on your _habits_ and your _comments._

Suddenly, startlingly, he understood.

“You’re correct,” you said, even though you didn’t really have to. “I’m immune because I’m not truly a human being.”

Before he could ask - before you could _elaborate_ \- the final trickle of sand fell into the bottom of the night’s metaphorical hourglass, and you realized something suddenly, horribly, gripping at your heart and prickling across your neck like a million startled ants. All at once, a cacophony of hooting emerged from the nearby home, a jumbled mix of _hooo-ah-ah-aaaahhs_ that spiraled into the air like an alarm. Your breath caught in your throat, and you pushed yourself away from Papyrus, taking a few quick, stumbling steps towards the calamity.

 _No,_ you said, your heart speaking instead of your mouth. _No, you’d promised!_ You had _promised_ him!

Sans had only asked one thing of you. He’d only made _one request,_ and you’d _promised_ to uphold it.

And now it was going to be broken.

Papyrus reached out for you, trying to catch your arm. “CRANE!” he shouted, eyes on the storm of crying birds. “WHAT’S GOING ON?”

“Run!” You shoved him away, because you knew that was the only way you could preserve the integrity of your word. “Papyrus, please run!”

Papyrus did the exact opposite, instead following you closely as you scrambled for the door. “THAT SOUNDS LIKE A TERRIBLE SUGGESTION! CRANE, WHAT’S WRONG?”

You could feel it in the air: the curling stench, the warbling trill of a spun coin - as this was a space between _heads_ and _tails,_ between yes and no, between zero and one - this had become a space of eternity, a space of _nightmares._ You could feel it buzzing, a sulfuric hum that choked the atmosphere, turning it wretched and unclean - and you could hear it beyond the door, in the desperate shout of a woman whose voice you sort-of recognized.

“Luv! Luv, calm down, it’s fine, it’s only a few minutes until nine, she’ll be _here at nine, Canterbury, calm down - “_

It was, apparently, too late for such placations to be effective, and you heard a horrific scream from the bowels of the condemned home. You could hear the pain, the suffering - and you threw open the door with the weight of your small body, pausing only momentarily to look back at Papyrus.

“I _promised Sans_ that I wouldn’t let you see a demon, please, Papyrus, _run -- “_

For once, Papyrus was scowling, and he forced himself in after you. There was no furniture in the dark room, just the markings of where a rug used to be and a thick stench of mold in the air. “I’M NOT LEAVING,” he announced, his fierce voice cutting through the dark like a beaming shaft of light. “AND I DON’T NEED TO BE PROTECTED FROM EVERYTHING. I’M SURE YOU UNDERSTAND.”

You did, but there was no real time to acknowledge it, because as soon as he’d finished, a loud, splintering crash split through the air as a woman was thrown through the half-rotten wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hooo boy things are about to get exciting
> 
> So you might have some questions about 'wait, what??? exactly is the Beast at this point, how does it relate to LOVE, I don't quite get it?' and that's fine. Remember - each character who's spoken about it has spoken from their own perspective, and the truth might not be exactly as it appears. It'll be talked about more.
> 
> Also, as people have probably noticed by now, I tend to update my fics on a rotating schedule. I'm going to interrupt that a bit and focus mainly on Papyrus Dates a Bird. I'd like to get it finished up, because we're not too far from the end. I'm not sure how far, exactly, but this is the home stretch.


	16. For Whom the Bell Tolls

Rust the Trashyard Princess was not having a good day.

With an appellation like ‘the garbage witch’, one would think that her average afternoon wouldn't, precisely, be called pleasant - and they'd be drop dead wrong, because fuck you, she LIKED her junkyard. Sure, it was shit, but it was her shit, she owned it, and that's more than she could say about any other period of her life, being wastrel without home, hearth, and property. It was precious to her, that assorted junk, the things that no one else wanted, for kindred things understood their kin - and that idea formed the basis of her magic. She had an unparalleled mastery of the unwanted.

In a way, this made her… strangely useful, but only as a last resort. Good people, _proper_ people, they didn’t like to associate with Rust. She was a trash human being with an equally trash personality, and - perhaps to preserve this reputation, or perhaps because she just _liked_ it - she belittled others for her own amusement and made herself unwelcome wherever she went. Rust had no care for etiquette or decorum. Rust would mouth off to anyone from _any_ echelon of society, and that irreverent demeanor secured her many enemies.

She was something to be looked down upon, that woman who’d made the junkyard her domain, and Rust relished the hatred. In her words, _“If you’re lookin’ at your feet, you ain’ bloody well gonna see the woman with the pipe at’cher head, eh?”_

Rust had no friends in the world - well, human ones, at any rate - but Rust did have Legbiter, and Rust had _Canterbury._

Rust had begun to squat near Ebott approximately four years ago,  her accent indicating that she hailed from somewhere near Scotland, and in a somewhat mysterious turn of events, the Inquisitor had shown up at the gate of her garbage pit a few months after her arrival. The strange thing wasn’t his visit, no - Rust had never properly introduced herself to the town and, to a dutiful man like Legbiter, that was more than enough cause for him to drop by and say hello. Have a chat.

Ask a few questions.

But usually, that sort conversation didn’t come with an offer. See, Rust had a very particular skillset, one that lent itself to a _very_ particular sort of work. She was quick, she was spry, she thought fast and, most importantly, she was the reigning queen of improvisational combat. In her hands, a rusty pipe was just as effective as a medieval mace - at least, until it met its end and crumbled to dust in her hands. The worse the environment, the better she did, and Legbiter could easily see her use in the realm of dirty street brawling… which was, unfortunately, a necessary skill in the arsenal of a man trying to contain a group of magic users who could _literally turn into demons_ given enough emotional stress.

On that cool, winter day, he’d shown up with a proposition - join my Inquisition, and I’ll see that everyone leaves you alone. You’ll be under my protection, and, so long as you don’t step too far out of line, I’ll make sure you stay fed and nobody harasses you, and… well. You can have ownership over the dump, if you want. So long as the city can keep freely using it.

Though Rust wasn’t a woman who liked commitment, she’d agreed that day, because - hell. Why was it, really? Was it because she was poor, and really needed the money? Was it because she could finally own something, have her own place? Was it because she was secretly lonely, and genuinely wanted the company?

Or was it because she could tell that the Inquisitor Legbiter was just as much of an asshole as she was, deep down, and she found his abuse of his position to cause his enemies grief admirable?

Hard to say.

She’d accepted, though, and become one of his agents - a member of the Inquisition, someone he could call on to give him a hand in detailing with all of the threats he was tasked with facing. And, even then, her presence was something of a _last resort_ \- and Inquisitor’s job, at least in his own description of it, was to calm and to comfort. He did not like to hurt, and he especially did _not_ like to kill.

Killing was, unfortunately, all Rust was good at.

If Rust was present at an engagement, it could mean a couple of things. One, Legbiter was afraid it was going to be a battle to the death. Two, Legbiter was reasonably certain that, if given enough time, he could calm a magus who’d succumbed to the Beast - frenzied, it was often called - but he needed that time, and sometimes that time could only be bought by breaking someone’s legs. Rust was very, _very_ good at breaking people’s legs. Three - it could, in the most innocuous circumstances, mean that he just needed a pair of eyes on someone. That the threat wasn’t dire, that it just needed to be… watched. He couldn’t be everywhere, he couldn’t deal with _everything._ Sometimes he just needed an agent he could trust - and he trusted Rust.

Well. Er. Sort of.

Regardless, that’s what _you_ thought was going on. Though you were only aware of the specifics of Rust’s arrangement with Legbiter in a very cursory manner, you knew that, if it was just her contacting you? It probably meant it wasn’t a big deal. You wouldn’t have to pacify a demon, and, though you’d done so before, you’d _promised Sans_ that you wouldn’t let Papyrus see you do it.

Not yet.

Unfortunately, you still weren’t used to thinking through things thoroughly. The idea that someone might deceive you was still a foreign one - and you didn’t have the advantages against Rust that you did against Sans. With Sans, things felt right, felt _natural._ You could easily call him out on his bullshit because fate had twined the two of you together. You’d met timeline after timeline, become important to each other timeline after timeline, and that left _marks._ Love, after all, cannot be killed.

It is the one thing in the world that will transcend death - even the death of the universe.

Rust had been, in fact, lying to you about the circumstances of this engagement. Or - no. It’s not a lie if you didn’t ask, was it? She just… wasn’t telling you the whole truth.

 _You_ thought that you were here to cleanse the taint from a woman named Canterbury. You didn’t know how she’d gotten it, but you’d assumed she hadn’t slipped far. She was sad, perhaps, having trouble - and she needed the comfort that only you could offer. You, not knowing her, or even really knowing Rust, had assumed that she was aging, elderly. The darkness of twilight preyed upon the old, and it was very difficult to grow grey and weathered as one of the magi.

Somewhat ironic, really, given that most famous descriptions of wizards and witches tend to be of those who had _aged._ Maybe it was because, to grow old, they had to be the best of the best. Madness claimed the others, for it was so, so hard to hope and to dream in this broken world.

...You’d thought you’d been doing her a personal favor, really, that Canterbury was some elderly relation, and then you hadn’t thought any more of it. The Beast had far more symptoms associated with it than the simple, violent frenzying of the spirit. Nightmares, anxiety, a continual feeling of being ill-at-ease - things that a magus had to live with, and many did for many years. Not everyone could seek your help, after all.

Even in the city, you could not help everyone, though they all, in a way, were helped by your mere presence. You made the air feel a bit less… oppressive, cleaned it up - helped people forget that more things had been sealed in Ebott, land of barriers, than just _monsters_. That was your duty - and that was what could turn you into a god, if you weren’t careful enough.

But enough about that.

You had been, in a way, mislead, and the truth of the matter… Well. If Legbiter knew about it, he would have been furiously angry.

Canterbury Bell was not, in fact, an old woman, but rather a young girl - Rust’s junior by a few years, and she had been trained in the art by a woman called the Rose Bride. Her teacher ran the information brokerage in town, and, by extension, Canterbury had been indoctrinated into it when she was old enough to work. In essence, Canterbury was a woman whose job it was to _know things,_ and then pass that information along to her teacher who would, in turn, sell that knowledge those who needed to know things, all for substantial profit. Though that sort of work usually came with a canny personality and a tendency towards subterfuge, that didn’t… really describe Canterbury.

She was nice. Pleasant. A bit hapless, perhaps, with a style of dress that made her seem frumpy and _thoroughly_ unmagi-like, given that she tended towards large, baggy hoodies and simple, well-kept jeans. She wasn’t particularly short - for a woman, at least - but was neither particularly tall, and her only notable physical characteristic was her soft, pink hair and the black choker she perpetually wore around her neck, decorated with a soft, creamy fake flower bell.

She, in the end, had very little in common with Rust, and the things that she _did_ have in common with the Inquisition agent should, in all honestly, made Rust hate her more.

Much like Rust, Canterbury had also been seen as worthless. She was - without mincing words - a horrible magus with little potential, but though her talent was meager, she _did_ have it… which gave Canterbury the unfortunate distinction of being wholly unsuited towards both worlds. She shared the magi’s inability to use technology, meaning that most avenues of ‘normal’ work were unavailable to her, but she also, unfortunately, had no _imagination._ She had no dreams, because she was simple, plain, and practical - and had naught the temperament for wild fancies that characterized the great magicians. There was just… _something_ about Canterbury, some intrinsic quality that - while it made for a charming girl easy to feel affection for -

Didn’t let her measure up to the true standards of magic, and so, she had been an unwanted child.

Rust knew that. Rust understood that. In another world, that would have made her feel some affection for the girl, being trash, just like her - but in this one? Rust was so fucking jealous, because someone had seen fit to treat her like she was worth something anyway. The Rose Bride had taken her in, given her care - and a name, and a home, and a _family._

She was treated like a treasured object, because the flower mistress loved all of her students equally and unconditionally. It was, perhaps, one of her best qualities. Canterbury was truly and genuinely loved, despite not being grand in any form or fashion. She was appreciated for being her, and she did what she could do - namely, use her eyes and her ears, because one didn’t have to be an incredible magus to work with information. In fact, it helped Canterbury, because - typically - the more one steeps themselves in thaumaturgy, the less one is able to function in the modern world.

Having someone a bit less _dreamy_ as an agent certainly helped the Rose Bride, and Canterbury was thoroughly practical. She had use, and loved her job accordingly.

So, what else, then? What else could possibly bind these two thoroughly different women together? Because, in a normal set of circumstances, neither would really be associated with the other beyond work. Rust didn’t _make friends,_ and Canterbury, though nice, was not the top to aggressively offer the hand of friendship.

The answer was simple: blackmail.

The Rose Bride loved Canterbury dearly, like she was a daughter, and so when Canterbury encountered a _problem_ that she wanted to keep secret from everyone - from the police, from her fellow agents, from the Inquisitor himself - she did the one thing she did best of all: blackmail someone into offering their services. And gosh, did Rust have a lot of dirty secrets ready to be dug up and used against her.

In all honesty, Rust could have gone to Legbiter when it all started. It violated the terms of their agreement; he would have been _bound_ to help her escape from the Rose Bride’s extortion. But… though Rust would never, ever admit it -

She kind of liked Legbiter. Like, actually liked. As a _person._ She didn’t want him knowing just what, exactly, had happened that had made her leave everything - even her _country_ \- behind. And when it started being used against her - ahh, a few months shy of a year ago, now - Rust hadn’t wanted to tell Legbiter of the Bride’s threat and had, subsequently, begun to comply.

She began to help Canterbury deal with her stalker.

The specifics… don’t need to be elaborated on, because that’s a story for another day. But, quite simply, Canterbury was being routinely harassed by some unknown party which, to a young woman, was understandably _terrifying._ Rust’s role had been to watch her, keep her safe, and ultimately try to ascertain the identity of the culprit.

It’s probably not too difficult to guess, considering the circumstances, that Rust didn’t… exactly… wholly deliver.

Somehow, though, during the entire affair, Canterbury had _genuinely_ wormed her way into Rust’s heart. She wasn’t her friend - Rust didn’t _have friends -_ but Rust certainly had convictions and, god, Canterbury didn’t deserve what was happening to her. She was so nice, and some _fucker_ kept pushing her, kept scaring her, kept causing her to withdraw within herself, and that was how the Beast wormed its way into her heart. The photographs, the letters - her apartment being broken _into_ \- had left her feeling powerless.

And… the Beast was always there to offer power to those in need.

In Rust’s defense, she hadn’t meant to put you in danger that night. She just wanted to take care of it _quietly._ For Canterbury’s sake, she didn’t want people to know how close she was to breaking. She didn’t want people to know that her - ...her _acquaintance,_ the one she’d teased, the one who’d laughed with her, the one who’d admitted things to her one day, about how she felt a little broken in a world obsessed with romance…

She didn’t want her to have to suffer anymore. She wanted her to be able to feel pure again. Clean again.

And so, she’d brought you here, to meet a woman who was damn close to slipping. Who - moments before your arrival - had turned, succumbing to her own despair and her desire for it to just be _over._

 _If she was powerful, she could make it all stop -_ that was a core tenant of human despair.

Being powerful meant you can _make all of it stop, forever._

...It wasn’t often that you so vividly see their sorrow. Oh, you felt it, certainly, you knew _of_ it, you were seeped in it daily - and that made it all the more unbearable that they saw you as their _hope_ , their _light,_ their redemption for a curse that was, to them, an inescapable noose passed down through the generations. But now - in the way the Scottish woman crumpled up against the wall, in the way she heaved herself up, in defiance of all things right and reasonable - in the way she screamed out, “Canterbury!” her voice filled with near palpable despair, desperately pleading with the… _form_ beyond the room. “Canterbury, I _promise_ you - I’ll bring you that fucker’s head! I’ll take care of it! _Please! Don’t forget how to be you!”_

The only response was a rustling crackle, as if the house itself was breathing out the dark, quiet air. It smelt like the depths of the forest, of dark, unknown secrets - and an awful chill crawled on the back of your neck, settling there like a puddle of dew or some form of slime mold. You took a step back - your instinct, despite your purity, was still to run - but you couldn’t, not now, not when you were needed.

Not when Papyrus was next to you, being so brave.

He knelt down almost immediately, helping Rust up and giving her something to support herself on. “ARE YOU HURT?” he asked, because he had the time to do so - though she’d been thrown quite aggressively through the wall, nothing had come after her in pursuit. It was as if it was lurking there, in the next room, curled up like a porcupine - or, perhaps, coiled like a snake. You were certain that, if you ventured into its domain, you would be forcibly expelled, or, worse, devoured, as Canterbury desperately tried to protect what was hers.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, certainly gotten bunged up worse." Despite the fact that blood trickled down her face, Rust waved him off. Her red, short hair was a thorough mess, sticking out at odd angles and tangled, but her eyes still had their fire in them, fierce and burning - and so Papyrus left it at that, not fretting after her any longer.

“What happened?” The nervous atmosphere stifled you, prickled at your skin - and you could tell it was getting to Papyrus, too, as even the light of his chipper personality was dampened.

Rust breathed out through her nose, a rough sigh accompanied by a complicated expression. “...She’s been nervous all day. I kept sayin’ it’d be over soon, but - I dun’... think she really believed that.” Then - before you could say anything more - she half-turned to Papyrus, who was still near her, looking on in clear concern. “I’m real happy to see you, dove, I need your help real bad - but I gotta ask, who th’hell’s this?”

“Uh.” You had, quite honestly, been planning on a quiet encounter and Rust’s gratitude at you doing her a favor to convince her to keep Papyrus’ involvement with this a secret from the Inquisitor. You couldn’t imagine him approving, not when there was so much risk involved in ventures like this.

Though it felt far away to you, you knew the political ramifications of a frenzied magus killing a monster would be… dire. Especially since, well.

Hadn’t that been one of the things that had kicked the war off in the first place, so very long ago?

Papyrus - sensing that you were probably going to give a less-than-satisfactory reply - took it upon himself to make his own (somewhat abridged) introduction. “I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS! AND I HAVE COME HERE TO AID YOU IN YOUR... DOINGS!”

“...Uh- _huh._ ” Rust sounded unconvinced, giving you a look. Luckily for you, she had a lot invested in keeping this particular disaster secret, so she didn’t press the issue. “I’ll trust your judgement, Crane, but if shit goes sour, I wasn’t fuckin’ here - got it?”

Rust - responsible as always.

Unfortunately for you, that was all the chatter you were really allowed, because the demon that had once been Canterbury was not particularly inclined to let strangers remain near its territory for long.

The lance was, luckily for everyone in the room, announced with a long, slow droning tone, like the tolling of a great, huge bell. You tensed at it, and you didn’t even need Rust’s help avoiding the stone spire that punctured through both walls, leaving an ugly gash near the door - but she shoved you aside anyway, throwing her weight into Papyrus to keep you both out of harm's way.

“Shit!” she cursed softly, and - with a thunk of her strong, leather boots - turned, completely tensed as she advanced on the darkened doorway of the next room. “Crane, I’ll distract her - you do your _thing_.”

The implicit trust in that statement turned your stomach in ugly knots. She thought you could fix it, like a fairy godmother waving around her magic wand. And, truthfully - you could. You could fix this, fix _everything,_ because _you_ had the power to divine the perfect solution. With just your words, you could drag her out of it - because those who suffer wanted to be _understood._

If you could say the thing that would reach the human part of her… then, perhaps, you could pacify her. Spare her.

...But you, Crane, the human being, did not know how to do that, because you, Crane - knew nothing about her. _You_ didn’t know that she was being stalked, _you_ didn’t know why she was so desperate for a sense of security, _you_ didn’t know the relationship between her and Rust - all of that was context completely unknown to you.

No. It was Crane the god that knew all that.

If you wanted to remain what you were, you could not dip too deeply into the wellspring of truth that flowed all around you. And so - ...what could you do?

Sacrifice some of your humanity, gain access to the knowledge you needed, and save her?

….Or…?

You didn’t have the time to think it over, because Rust had already launched herself into the next room, set on making herself as annoying as possible. Terrified of all the alternatives, you shouted after her, trying to make the best compromise you could. “R-Restrain her! I can pull the taint from her if you do!”

That was the best you could do to _push it,_ but not break the laws that you had to abide under.

“Aye!”

You followed her, Papyrus sticking close to your side - even as another spear of stone crashed through the wall near the pair of you. It was rough, patchy - like it was made of segments of cobble sharpened to a hellishly fine point. You swallowed, diving for the doorway, and somewhat regretting your extreme distaste for shoes, as the floor was covered with splinters.

You ignored it.

What had once been an ugly scrap of a living room had been transformed - well, partially, dense undergrowth claiming half of it, leaving the ratty, rotten furniture of the other half untouched. It was a strange juxtaposition between tangled roots and moth-eaten cushions, though you didn’t have long to contemplate it - nor the demon rooted in the ground at the other end of the room - because, without hesitation, Rust kicked over the coffee table, planting one end on the ground and forcing you behind it.

“Hide!” she growled before pressing onwards, ripping a lamp out of the rotten wall on her way. You assumed that order extended to Papyrus as well, though he didn’t obey, throwing an arm out and summoning forth a small armada of bones that hung behind him as he prepared to strike.

You dove beneath the cover, peeking the beak of your mask over and observing the battlefield. Your target was clear and easy to see - the demon had concealed herself in a pod, burying herself into the earth and winding tendrils along the remaining sections of wall that, paradoxically, now seemed to open up into dense, forested darkness. The nonsense of a nightmare, you knew it well - and it wouldn’t be long before Canterbury began to drag creatures from her own mind to life.

Familiars, you knew the magi called them, and - with the power of the Beast - even the most uncreative of wizards could become very dangerous.

Rust wasn’t intending to give her the chance, because - despite her martial prowess - she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep you or Papyrus safe if she had to contend with more than one opponent. She heaved the lamp against the flesh of Canterbury’s shell, shattering it over the thick, green material - and then dove, sliding neatly underneath another stone spire before grabbing one of the largest of the ceramic shards and driving it into her skin.

She screamed, the sound vibrating out from the three stone protrusions sticking out of the bud. Rust gritted her teeth, trying her best not to notice how she could still sort of tell it was _Canterbury_ , could still sort of hear her voice despite how horribly twisted it was.

It hurt.

"She's prolly inside of there!" Rust yelled out, once the sound had faded. "Like a butterfly inna cocoon! Once we got that - we can keep 'er down!"

Papyrus watched this with some amount of horror - and, perhaps, realized some things in the process.

This wasn’t a training battle. This wasn’t a playful duel against a young human. This was _real,_ this was _dangerous_ \- someone might _die -_

And the thought of hurting someone… of _killing_ someone, should the demon be unable to be subdued -

...He couldn’t. There definitely had to be another way.

Though he knew nothing - though he’d never once felt as great as he’d claimed to be - he knew that there _had_ to be another way, and he’d believe in that forever.

He was the sort of man who would always offer mercy.

If there was one thing Papyrus was good at, it was holding back - and he did so, sending a vertical line of bones rocketing towards the cut Rust had made.

Only one of them met their target. The rest - along with the brick Rust had lobbed - were demolished by a stone fist that swiftly punched out of the ground before retreating. Rust rolled away from the area, narrowly avoiding the next point of impact as another protrusion crashed through the ceiling, sending a flurry of dust and splinters raining onto the earth.

“Piss!” Rust swore, pushing herself back another few paces. “Canterbury, y’daft idjit! We’re here to fuckin’ _help_ you!”

Canterbury, apparently, was not interested in being helped - because another pair of spikes struck out, this time, right along the center, and - somewhat uniquely - not coming immediately from the demon’s heart. Rust moved, forced to retreat back, as they kept coming - withdrawing and advancing like prehistoric pistons.

Papyrus took advantage of this, launching another pattern of bones, trying to help extract her essence from the defenses she'd built around her. They struck true, thick globules of pinkish pus seeping out from the points of impact - but it was an action that came with retribution, as - to put it somewhat crassly - a new bullet pattern entered the mix.

Little white, purple, and pink flowers burst forth from the green flesh of Canterbury’s shell, an innocuous sight, at first, until she began to expel seed-like projectiles out from the bell. Rust hissed, covering her face as they slit her clothes and marked her exposed skin with cuts. Papyrus wasn’t much for dodging, so he found himself similarly afflicted - but he’d done enough endurance training to keep his head, and - when Rust grabbed one of the shelves of the bookcase, intending to heave it down and use it as a barrier - he helped, and, together, the two of them found some sort of shelter.

“Keep calling out to her!” You instructed. “Get her to remember!”

“I’m bloody well _tryin’!”_ Rust looked over at her companion, the ‘Great Papyrus’ as he’d introduced himself to her. “But I dunno what to say! I thought things were fine! I mean - not _fine,_ obviously, she’s been goin’ through _hell,_ but I’m so close to catchin’ this bloke! Why’s she gotta give up _now?_ ”

You didn’t know the answer to that question. But you could figure it out, and it would save them from this awful battle, where they had a severe disadvantage because their goal was to _capture,_ not _kill._

All you needed to do was -

“I’VE GOT AN IDEA!” Papyrus shouted over the rattling sound of seeds dribbling against the wood. “TAKE COVER!”

Papyrus concentrated, breathing out deeply - and felt for the bones still lodged within the plant flesh. Grabbing onto the feeling of his lingering magic and connecting the two points together, Papyrus took control of them once more, and began to drag them down - slitting through the green and letting forth a sickly-sweet river of pink syrup.

This, of course, caused Canterbury to scream in rage, fear, and agony. Three, massive palms of stone appeared above the pair. While Papyrus retreated, scooting his bony butt _far_ backwards, Rust went forward, breaking one of the drawers off the lower cabinets of the bookshelves off and using it as a shield as she advanced to her quarry. If she’d figured it right - and she prayed that she had - there would be _something_ in there for her to extract - something that you could work your magic on and heal.

She’d have to avoid the onslaught first. In a last ditch, desperate effort, the demon threw everything it had at them, basically demolishing the room with stones that built up on each other in a complex network of lances and columns. The only thing still keeping the ‘house’ standing was the fuzziness of dream logic - something that no one really had time to think about, at the moment, as _staying alive_ took top priority.

You were mostly safe - you hadn’t attacked at all, and Canterbury hadn’t really even noticed you. Rust was… managing, she was the reigning monarch of _not fucking dying,_ and this was basically her element. She’d chosen a condemned house for a reason; there was trash all around her, ready to be used and abused at a moment’s notice. Couch cushions for shields, broken boards to climb - the junkier the locale, the better she did.

Papyrus, however, was not used to this sort of combat.

Oh, he was strong. Honestly? He could have _destroyed_ Canterbury without batting a metaphorical eyelash. He could have ripped the pod apart, and her along with it, obliterating her until there was nothing left but pulp.

But he didn’t want to.

That significantly lowered his chances of survival - and… yes, he had natural defenses which allowed him to take a bit of a beating…

But nothing like this.

Rust tried to help - tried to say something, anything that would calm her, ranging from, “I promise, I’ll set you up somewhere safe! _I promise!_ We’ll keep it secret; he won’t fuckin’ find you!” to, “You’re _better than this!_ ” - but nothing seemed to be working. You knew he could only handle so many things at once, and so, resigned, you were about to say the one thing that would pacify her...

When Papyrus suddenly surprised you, as he always did. “YOU OWN YOURSELF CANTERBURY; YOU DON’T HAVE TO HIDE! NOBODY CAN TAKE _YOU_ AWAY FROM YOU!”

The thundering ringing quieted some, and Papyrus - backed against the wall - felt a profound sense of relief as a spear stopped mere feet from his breastbone.

It was an unsteady peace, a brief calm - and he continued, trying to secure more of it for you all. “IT SOUNDS LIKE SOMEONE VERY SCARY HAS BEEN HURTING YOU! AND THAT - THAT’S BAD! ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU’VE GOT TO RUN AWAY, ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU CAN’T STAND AND FIGHT… THAT SOUNDS REALLY SCARY! I BET IT… FEELS LIKE YOU CAN’T BE SAFE ANYWHERE, HUH? WHEN YOU… DON’T HAVE A HOME.”

Things remained calm, remained quiet, and - slowly, like he was afraid he’d shatter the peace if he moved too much - he slid against the wall until he was in a safer position. His expression was deeply, desperately thoughtful, like he was trying to find more to say - but Rust took over, easing herself out from behind the remnants of a couch.

“...Canterbury,” she said softly, approaching the pod. “Is - is tha’ it, luv? Are you - fuck, I’m a right idiot, of course you’d be tired of hidin’, huh?”

She reached out, hands delicately pushing open the incision Papyrus had made and pulling out a vaguely human form covered in rounded blossoms. She went completely slack against Rust, a soft sound - rather like crying - shuddering out of her body. “You were going to leave,” she said, her voice still only nominally human, though it was distinguishable now, the grief stark and apparent. “I don’t care if you kill them, Rust! _I don’t care!_ I’m just tired of _moving_ all the time, month from month, always being scared…!”

Rust hugged her, keeping her upright - even as she dripped slime all over the poor, leather-clad woman - and this was your opportunity, now, and you hopped over the table, carefully picking your way over to the debris.

“Lie her down,” you instructed, and Rust, thoroughly out of her depth, obeyed. You withdrew a small jar out of your hand-knitted bag, and, carefully, put a hand over Canterbury’s chest. “I’m going to help you, I promise. Don’t be scared.”

Papyrus joined you, trying to ignore the pain in his leg as he kneeled down by your side. Rust continued to hold her, half supporting her body - and all of you looked down at her face, that indistinct shape covered with flowers. The tears brimming in her eyes were clear and apparent, even in the gloomy dark.

Her soul left her body at your touch, and then, you did your work - the thing that defined you… for you were a Crane, and they, these poor, damned people, wished on you.

You bled her of her nightmare and made her pure.

As the shadow of the Beast dripped into the glass, she looked up at you - you and Papyrus both - eyes swimming with tears. “You’re angels,” she murmured, and… those were typically words that sickened you. Not from the sentiment, no, a _literal_ sickness, one that came from having to resist fate, something inevitable.

But it felt… different, here, with Papyrus next to you, and you thought back to what he had done.

“I’M NOT AN ANGEL,” Papyrus replied, beaming down at her. “I’M A HERO. THEY’RE EASY TO MIX-UP, BUT THE DIFFERENCE IS… HEROES ARE JUST PEOPLE WHO TRY VERY, VERY HARD TO MAKE PEOPLE SMILE.”

The breath caught in your throat, and, for a moment, you could only stare at him.

His smile in return was soft, kind -

And you felt something, in that moment, that you’d never once felt before.

It was going to be alright.

 

* * *

 

You’d all had to escape very, very quickly from the building once the dream sustaining it had faded. The arena had still been _partially_ real, and the damage to it had stuck around in the waking world - meaning that, as you all scrambled out, the building had collapsed around you… probably making less work for the construction company, in the end.

Or maybe not. Who knows?

Rust had taken Canterbury, carrying the drowsy, exhausted girl to someplace safe. _Actually_ safe, someplace she could stay - which probably meant that Rust would have a roommate at the dump for awhile unless Canterbury had the better sense to object.

You doubted she would. You kind of had a feeling it was what she wanted.

You’d been worried over Papyrus and his injuries - but he’d waved you off, saying that monsters worked a bit differently from humans in the whole ‘recovery’ department. Some good food and a nice hug would do him wonders, and he hadn’t gotten _that_ banged up, anyway.

But he didn’t want to leave you, yet, and maybe it was _you_ that needed the attention. Don’t think he noticed how mucked up your feet had gotten, but you’d pointed out you couldn’t stay here, unless you both wanted to have an uncomfortable talk with the police.

You didn’t, so he’d picked you up and moved on.

He insisted that you should be taken to his house, you’d protested that you didn’t want to be inside, so, your compromise had been picking up a first aid kit from a local convenience store and finding a nice roof to inhabit for a little while. High places soothed your spirit, and reminded you of things that had once been.

You were very, very glad that - as he treated your feet - he didn’t ask too many prying questions about the things that clearly weighed heavily on his mind.

There was something you wanted to ask, however, and you eventually did so, just as he was wrapping bandages around your skin. “Papyrus… how did you know what to say to her?”

His attention flicked up to your beaked face, and you met it for a moment before looking away shyly. What was it? Shame? Inadequacy?

...Something else?

“IT SEEMED LIKE SHE WAS HIDING. BUT NOT LIKE SHE DIDN’T WANT TO BE SEEN. MORE LIKE SHE WANTED TO BUILD HERSELF A HOUSE AND NEVER LEAVE! IT REMINDED OF SANS WHEN HE WAS TRYING TO DEAL WITH SOMETHING CHANGING A LOT, AND WHEN - UHH, RUST, YOU CALLED HER?”

You nodded.

“WELL, I WOULDN’T HAVE FIGURED IT OUT IF RUST HADN’T BEEN TALKING TO HER, TOO. SHE SAID SOMETHING ABOUT BRINGING CANTERBURY SOMEONE’S HEAD, BUT… SHE DIDN’T ACT LIKE SOMEONE WHO WANTED REVENGE. I’M PRETTY SURE THAT, HAD WE LEFT HER ALONE, SHE WOULDN’T HAVE ATTACKED ANY OF US, SO…”

He shrugged idly. “I JUST KIND OF GUESSED!”

“Unbelievable,” you murmured, staring up into the sky. It looked brighter up here, clearer, and the wind was cooler. The birds had taken roost near you, and you were glad for their presence - they gave you comfort when your thoughts grew dire. “I’m completely awestruck.”

“I FEEL LIKE I SHOULD BE SAYING THE SAME THING ABOUT YOU!” Papyrus finished off the bandaging before packing the supplies away and settling down next to you. “SOUL ALTERATION IS A BIG DEAL, CRANE! AND YOU LITERALLY JUST DID IT WITH YOUR HANDS AND A JAR.”

You shrugged a little, not one to think about logistics. “I can do what I do,” you replied mildly, and then looked over at him. “...But, still, you have to understand how impressive that was. You didn’t know those two at all, and yet… You peered into their hearts and found their true feelings.”

“YOU DO THE SAME THING, DON’T YOU?” He dangled his legs over the edge of the building. You felt badly for his uniform, and hoped that Mettaton wouldn’t think too terribly of him. “WITH MK - THEY TOLD ME THEY JUST DESCRIBED ME TO YOU… AND YOU KNEW EXACTLY WHAT TO GET ME!”

“I…” You paused, squinting. “That wasn’t really a big deal; I had the information to work it out. You didn’t.”

“I DID, THOUGH! I SAW HOW SHE WAS ACTING, AND I HEARD WHAT RUST WAS SAYING TO HER. IT’S THE SAME THING YOU DO!”

“...I’m… a cheater,” you admitted softly, fiddling with your gloves. “The birds give me lots of information, and, when they don’t - I have ways to know things I shouldn’t know. But if I do it too much, then… the consequences will be dire. I… I’m so sorry, I’m such a coward, I should have, from the beginning…”

Papyrus put his arm around you, pulling you against his side. “YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY NOT A COWARD! YOU’RE VERY BRAVE AND COOL. A TRUE HERO! BUT… CRANE. CAN I GIVE YOU SOME ADVICE?”

You looked up at him, surprised - but didn't pull away. “...What does the Great Papyrus have to offer me by way of wisdom?”

Papyrus tapped your beak with a single digit. “IT SEEMS THAT YOU THINK ABOUT SOME VERY BIG THINGS. THAT’S VERY GOOD! YOU NEED TO THINK ABOUT THE BIG THINGS SOMETIMES. BUT… I THINK YOU SPEND TOO MUCH TIME THINKING ABOUT THE BIG THINGS, AND LOSE SIGHT OF WHAT’S RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR FACE.”

“...What’s right in front of my face…?” You murmured, watching him in something akin to fascination.

He nodded. “THINK ABOUT THE PEOPLE IN FRONT OF YOU! WHO THEY ARE, WHAT YOU SEE. YOU CAN HAVE ALL THE INFORMATION IN THE WORLD - YOU CAN SPEND FOREVER THINKING! - BUT IF YOU DON’T SEE THE PEOPLE IN FRONT OF YOU… THEN… YOU’LL BE LOST. YOU’LL GET OVERWHELMED.”

It seemed like he was speaking directly to your spirit, and you looked down at your hands clasped in your lap. “Sometimes, I feel that you are very smart and that I am… very stupid.”

“...CRANE…” Papyrus took a big, deep breath. “I, UH - THIS IS A LITTLE EMBARRASSING! BUT - ALL THESE THINGS I SAY? I… FEEL LIKE… I CAN ONLY SAY THEM BECAUSE YOU’RE NEXT TO ME. I FEEL LIKE - WHEN I’M AROUND YOU…”

He coughed slightly, looking up at the sky. “EVERYTHING BECOMES CLEAR.”

Seeing him, there, framed against the night-sky and the starlight, you felt… relief. Joy. Clarity. And -

Moving your hand, you offered it to him silently, and you felt your heart beat swiftly, pounding in your throat and in your chest. Was this…

What was this? It brought you happiness, this feeling, the things he had said - and you'd become dizzy on it, leaning against him for support.

He noticed after about a second of this, and - quite immediately - he turned a rather nervous orange. But hell if he was going to refuse, and he took your hand, summoning all of his courage to perform such a small action.

It felt nice, your hand in his. Comforting - like a hug. And you leaned against him, forgetting a lot of things - that your feet hurt, that you were scared, that, one day, you would have to explain this all to him, because he deserved to know who you were, where you’d come from, and why you’d chosen to sleep for so long.

You forgot that, and focused on what was right in front of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's count all the parallels to undertale mechanics shall we??


	17. Enter Stage Right - Detective Crane

The fallout from the demon debacle was milder than you expected. Rust was a woman who practically breathed plausible deniability, and Legbiter couldn’t implicate Canterbury in anything untoward without bringing the Rose Bride’s ire upon himself. Considering how much that would rock the boat, so to speak, and considering the tense politics in the city didn’t need any extra agitation, Legbiter decided to let the matter die peacefully and spare himself some considerable grief.

Though, he did decide to ensure that no one dragged you into any more dirty business. You never saw him, of course, but the birds told you he was there, and his presence lingered in the air like a fading waft of perfume. This only lasted for a few days; being a profoundly busy man, he could only indulge in personal whims for so long and, in the end, other matters required his attention.

Your own attention strayed to Sans.

He knew. He’d been up waiting for the two of you, and though Papyrus had tried to play it all off, there was no way to hide oh haha yeah I fought a demon without directly lying to him. Of course Sans had said the equivalent of, ‘oh, woah, good job bro’ but you were both fully aware that was pure misdirection and that Sans was really, really not happy with what had happened that night.

He’d given you an inch and you’d taken a mile. Though Papyrus told you not to worry about it - Sans was the Sulkmaster Prime and Papyrus was a big kid, seriously, he could make his own choices - you knew far more than Papyrus did about why, exactly, Sans didn’t want him getting involved with weird magus bullshit. He’d just asked one thing of you - please, don’t take my brother to see a demon - and, well.

You had, unknowingly, done exactly that.

Now Papyrus knew from personal experience about the tapestry of sorrow covering humanity like a funeral shroud, and things were progressing in a far different direction than Sans had ever seen before. You were awake, new things were happening… Of course he would be terrified. How could he not?

But you couldn’t explain any of this to Papyrus, nor could you justify San’s feelings to him. You didn’t agree with it - Papyrus had shown himself to be more than capable of dealing with things that were difficult - but, out of respect to Sans, you felt obligated to keep quiet. His feelings were important to you, and you couldn’t destroy the fragile trust you’d been offered.

Sans dropped his persona around you. Sure, you’d had to drag him out of it, kicking and screaming, but you were the only person he could actually discuss this time-travel metaphysical garbage with. If you drove a wedge between you and him, he would have nothing. His heart was injured, and you had to treat it with care…

Which made you uncharacteristically concerned about his well-being, so much so that your preoccupation ended up disrupting the trajectory of your relationship with Papyrus.

For the past few days, Sans had been… avoiding you. You were familiar with his patterns by now - he just always seemed to be going out when you arrived. Hanging out with Toriel, working some new job, disappearing with the vague promise to grab some milk and then not returning for five hours… his skills at avoidance were impeccable, and even Papyrus couldn’t corral his older brother. You’d enter a room and he’d walk out and vanish, or you’d turn the corner to call after him and he’d just be gone. It was surreal, and due to his obstinance, you hadn’t gotten the chance to have a decent conversation with him.

It was so frustrating!

Papyrus bore it all with his typical good cheer. You knew that you owed him a very, very long talk, but he was a patient guy. He could wait until you’d sorted things out with Sans, particularly since he was well aware that Sans needed the occasional intervention. And… perhaps… he was simply proud of you right now. There was a problem, and - instead of lying down and giving up - you were trying to solve it, using nothing but your own ingenuity.

No cheating, no special powers - it was just you, thinking the matter over, and asking Papyrus for help and insight when you thought it prudent.

You ended up needing him an unfortunate amount. A life of lethargy had left you with numerous deficiencies in your skillset, among them a poor ability to read and write. Luckily, Papyrus was great at both of those things, and he also had Special Experience with trying to decipher the unholy scrawl that was Sans’ handwriting. Papyrus made good on all of his earlier promises, and the both of you set to translating his calendar so you could find a time to corner him at work.

Now, that wasn’t a sure-fire plan - nothing short of actually encasing him in a block of cement could stop Sans from wriggling out of a situation he didn’t want to be in, and even that you had your doubt about. But maybe - maybe! - if you could at least get him to listen to you for fifteen minutes, you could apologize. Papyrus even helped you write a nice little letter to him explaining the depths of your penitence, though you kept the exact contents a secret, mainly asking help for spelling purposes. (Why wasn’t it apallagee? WHY.)

Unfortunately for your plans, you soon discovered two facts about Sans. One - his calendar blatantly lied, and he probably wrote on it just to amuse himself. Two, actually trying to figure out where he’d be at any given hour was equivalent to solving differential calculus, considering that he was juggling more jobs than could conceivably be legal. Some of them operated at the same time! HOW.

Your salvation came, surprisingly enough, in the form of Mettaton.

One of Sans’ dozens of jobs was working as receptionist at the luxurious New and Improved™ MTT Resort, a place that still occupied a prominent place in your memory despite you having only seen it once. With a little bit of digging - namely, asking the prodigious pop-star for Sans’ schedule - Papyrus managed to confirm that, from three-to-five in the afternoon, Sans should be working his cushy ‘man-this-is-great-i-get-to-sit-all-shift’ receptionist job in the hotel lobby.

You just had to pin him down.

Papyrus had offered to accompany you, a proposition which you’d neatly dodged by saying that you’d like to handle this alone. It was true, you did -

But you also didn’t quite trust Papyrus not to listen in on your talk with Sans. Despite neither of them actually possessing one, you knew both brothers were _thoroughly nosy,_ and you wanted to cover your bases just in case your talk with Sans got weird.

He walked you there, though, like a very polite gentleman, and parted with you about a block away from the flashing building. Walking that extra few feet was, perhaps, one of the hardest things you’ve ever done, and standing in front of the great, automatic glass doors, you steeled yourself to venture into the depths of tacky luxury.

At first, you had to shield your eyes. The floors, made of a reflective, chrome metal, bounced the gold of the chandeliers every which way and made for a sickeningly sparkly effect. It was like the stars had been embedded in the great, steely expanse coating the ground. The sounds of splishing, splashing water were your only comfort in this strange world, but even that was set against the horrible sight of a rhinestone encrusted statue, gleaming in the semicircle of spotlights surrounding it. You squinted, eyeing the offensive fountain for a moment, and then turned, looking over at the counter -

Where you saw Sans staring at you, his smile frozen in place.

The woman next to him - a giant hand with legs wearing a very smart, blue skirt-suit - greeted you immediately. “Welcome to the New and Improved™ MTT Resort, how may I assist you this afternoon?”

Though she seemed like a very nice lady, you only gave her a brief considerate nod before turning your attention back to your skeletal quarry. Unfortunately, that brief deviation in your focus gave Sans the time necessary to disappear, leaving a conspicuous hole where he once was.

Though you weren’t sure how, exactly, San’s disappearing act worked, you were so fervently sick of his shit that you weren’t going to accept that. You ran forward, your bare feet sliding across the chrome, and - in a sudden burst of agility - you vaulted over the counter...

And collided with him, pinning him to the ground in an inelegant splay of limbs.

The receptionist looked down at the both of you, but, given where she worked, she’d honestly had way weirder days. Shrugging, she cheerfully said, “Very good, then!” and began her dialogue with the next customer.

Sans flopped about, reminding you of a displaced fish that hadn’t quite given up and accepted its own death. Eventually, he settled on just trying to get his face off the ground rather than actually struggling which you, for your part, were sympathetic to, though you did not climb off him, no-sir-ee. Instead, you shifted so you were sitting on him in a slightly less uncomfortable manner, and you looked down at him with a scowl.

He opened his mouth - probably to make some joke or attempt to defuse the situation - and without fanfare or hesitation, you retrieved your heartfelt letter from underneath your shirt and then stuck it in Sans’ mouth.

“Delivery.”

He stared at you, the crisp edge of the envelope jutting out from beyond his teeth, and then - not breaking eye contact - he swallowed it. “thanks. i’ll read it on my break.”

“You’ll read it now.”

“now’s not my break.”

“Sure it is. Go take your break,” the receptionist chimed up in a true display of sisterly solidarity, and the charm and class with which she spoke made it seem like she should be putting on lipstick at that very moment. Or… well… would her alternative be nail polish…?

“...i just took a break.”

“Has that ever stopped you before?” Though she left it at that, as she had a customer to attend to, you could practically feel the malignant aura targeted at Sans who, for his part, resigned himself to his fate.

“alright, alright, get off of me.”

You eyed him dubiously, and then - very, very slowly - you eased yourself off of him, though you kept hold of his jacket sleeve in your hand. You were _on to him._

“i’ll be back soon,” he grumbled, trudging off like you were leading him to the executioner’s block.

Perhaps they didn’t have a proper break-room, or perhaps Sans was just leading you somewhere more private, but the two of you exited the building out the back into a small circular courtyard. Normally, such a place would be filled with natural greenery and soothing plant life, but this was the New and Improved™ MTT Resort, and such quaint decor was, obviously, replaced by far superior fiber-optic imitations.

...It was still daylight; why was any of this stuff even on?

“you can let go now.” Sans motioned to your hand still clamped around the sleeve of his jacket, and you only gripped on tighter.

You didn’t think the long-suffering sigh he let out was really fair, and you said so, glaring at him through your mask.

“what, are you going to take me to jail for inappropriate exhalation? is that what this is about?” Sans pulled up his shirt with his available hand, sliding it between his ribs and retrieving your letter. He didn’t open it yet, flipping it back and forth as if that would somehow give him some insight into the whole situation.

...Or maybe he was just stalling.

“Please read it,” you asked, not really able to take the suspense.

Another sigh - he was probably doing that on purpose - and he slit it open clumsily with his fingerbone. The envelope tore atrociously, but the letter itself was unharmed, and Sans read your missive quietly, his casual smile dropping as his gaze darted over the paper. “you’re… apologizing to me?” He asked, clearly somewhat skeptical - and maybe that hurt you, that he hadn’t even thought of you as someone who would be sorry about your own misconduct.

“Of course I am,” you murmured, finally letting go of his sleeve and crossing your arms. “I understand what you’re going through - or... no, I shouldn’t say that, because I can only guess at how terrified you are. You want to protect what’s important to you, but you have no way of doing so, because - timeline after timeline - all your efforts are rendered null and void. I understand that what I’ve asked of you has been difficult. And - I am sorry that I failed you, that I didn’t take the proper precautions, and that I let Papyrus see something you didn’t want him to see.”

You were unable to meet his gaze. “..I don’t want to undermine you. I’m not meaning to work against you. I don’t want to discredit your feelings for the sake of my own goals. Just because I have hope for the future - just because I’m determined to give you a world where you can be happy - doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be considerate of your feelings now.”

“...I understand if you don’t trust me, but… I wanted you to know that I care. So - “

“Crane,” Sans interrupted, clear disbelief in his voice. “you - you thought i was upset with you?”

There was an awkward silence filled only by the sound of distant electronic pop.

“...Yes?”

“oh jeez.” Sighing in misery, Sans rubbed at the bone right by his nose. Casually, like it meant nothing at all, he completely popped the balloon of your anxiety. “uh. i’m not… mad at you. like, at all. i’m just kind of pissed off at myself, honestly.”

You stared at him blankly. “You’re… not?”

“no. i mean. why would i be? you had no idea what was going to happen. sure, this is frustrating, and - uh, yeah, i guess i’m scared, like you put it, but being upset doesn’t mean i’m mad at you.”

“Then…” Squint. “Why were you avoiding me?”

“er, well, see. about that.” Sans looked away awkwardly, hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his pants. “i thought you were… trying to talk to me for another reason.”

“Another reason?”

“uh. yeah.”

You were not catching his hint. “What reason would that be?”

“uh.”

“Sans?” You stepped forward, concern overtaking your bafflement, and Sans awkwardly rubbed his cheek.

“well, lately, you’ve been doing a lot of... y’know. thinking about my motivations and picking me clean of all my dark, terrible secrets, so i thought…” He trailed off awkwardly, and you pursed your lips, not really sure what he thought.

“What is it?”

He scuffed the ground with his boot, completely refusing to look at you. “you really haven’t realized?”

“Realized what?” You tilted your head in a thoroughly bird-like fashion, and Sans dragged his fingers across his face.

“seriously? you… oh my god. i’m an idiot! i’m a complete idiot. i literally just shot myself in the foot. i mean. okay, not literally, but…” He waved vaguely, and you forgave him for the misuse of the word. “i thought you’d just get it like you always do. i was terrified! you honestly don’t know?”

“No…” You said slowly, trying to piece this together. “You were only running because you didn’t want to tell me something?”

“yeah, basically.” Sans shrugged, looking up at the sky. “i sure do love running from my problems.”

You peered at him, trying for a moment to figure out what he could be referring to - but instead you shrugged, stepped back, and gave him a firm nod. “Well, then. I’m glad you’re not upset with me. I was worried.”

Sans looked at you as if he wasn’t quite believing what he was hearing. “wait… you’re not going to…?”

You shook your head with a quick preciseness, banishing his fears like a gust of wind clearing out a smoky haze. “If you don’t want me to know something, then I’ll leave it be for now. Papyrus has been very patient with me about my secrets. I should be patient about yours.”

For a very long moment, Sans stared at you. A grand mixture of emotions crossed his face: relief, dread, suspicion, and, most heartbreakingly, hope, like the idea of being allowed to have his own secrets was truly a foreign concept.

In the end he laughed, a sound somewhere in between misery and gratitude. “i can’t believe it. this… is the weirdest loop there’s been yet. you’re a riot, Crane.”

“A… what?”

He let out another mildly hysterical chuckle. “don’t worry about it. uh. yeah. i forgive you, i guess? though there’s not really anything to forgive.”

It was strange how such a simple sentence could bring you such a profound sense of relief. It was strange to communicate like this with another being, to reveal your heart and have it, in turn, be cared for. It was strange to see someone’s true nature, to know them for who they actually were, and it was strange to be able to leave things for the future, like you were actually making progress towards some ultimate goal.

You smiled at him, he smiled at you, and suddenly, the both of you heard a sing-song voice that chopped through your conversation like the blade of a guillotine. “Helloooo daaarlings! You are just the people I wanted to see!”

From across the glittering courtyard, Mettaton pranced towards you with the inescapable intensity of a sequin-covered train.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY I rewrote this chapter like, 3 times, and felt badly about it. Give all of your heartfelt thanks to Vai_Russ, whose beta-ing really did help me feel more confident about it. Speaking of beta'd stories, Vai_Russ has been beta-ing a story I just started called Orange Soda and Coffee Cola, a gaster x reader high school AU that lets me a.) not really think too much about plot and b.) lets me write horrible shoujo drivel. Check it out if you want something nice and sweet!
> 
> I've discovered I like asking people questions at the end of chapters, so... What's everybody's favorite type of bird? Mine are owls, honestly. They're so fluffy! And terrifying! And cute! I have an owl stuffed animal that I sleep with. It's a barn owl!


	18. The Dancing Discourse and Other Things

If it wasn’t for his voice, you wouldn’t have recognized him at all. 

It was like comparing the dull cocoon to the butterfly who bursted forth to emerge anew in the world. Every part of him commanded attention now, from the shining luster of his black hair to the rhinestones studding the pink leather of his boots, and his delicate, metal features caught the light in a way that was - quite literally! - made for film. There was a sleekness to him now, a fluidity of form and movement that seemed totally at odds with the box he’d been trapped in before and, even among the magi who had made your acquaintance, you’d never seen anyone carry themselves quite as bombastically as he did.

Actually... perhaps it was wrong to say you wouldn’t have recognized him, because it was still clearly Mettaton’s soul shining out from his body. Perhaps it was better to say that he was more Mettaton than he’d ever been in his life.

“hey boss,” Sans gritted out through an aggressively shining smile, giving you the vague impression he was about to lie through his teeth. “nice to see you.”

“It’s wonderful to see you too, darling! You’re always so refreshing to talk to; it must be how relaxed you are!” Mettaton’s own expression was far more poised, like it was assuring the world that he knew everyone was looking at him.

You metaphorically ducked, allowing the hostility in the air to go right over your head. “Hello. I’m very sorry that I destroyed you. I hope you’re feeling better now.”

Mettaton broke his gaze away from Sans, placing one hand upon his chest before casting the other out in a grand and dramatic gesture. “Oh, don’t worry about me! The stars do not fall from the heavens so easily. In fact!” He continued moving, his pose finally terminating in a bow. “Would you mind if I entertained you for a while? I’d love to get a chance to speak with you.”

Sans butt into things before you could speak. “unfortunately, Crane probably oughta head off. she’s already taken a bunch of time to come find me.”

“Ah! It’s very kind of you to value someone’s time so highly, but I promise, it’ll only be a few minutes.” Mettaton looked to you at this, avoiding the social faux pas of treating you like you weren’t there. “At your discretion, of course. I understand if there are more pressing matters.”

You didn’t even bother trying to lie. “I was just going to go back to sleep after this. So, not really?”

“hey, it’d be hypocritical if mettaton knocked the value of some good ol’ fashioned beauty sleep.” Sans winked, and Mettaton laughed in a way that practically glittered.

“Too true. Well, it’s a small matter, I suppose I can take care of it quickly. Here,” Mettaton said, presenting a sparkling envelope to you with a flourish. “I wanted to make sure you received this personally.”

You flipped it between your fingers in confusion. An aroma of vanilla wafted up from the paper, and you saw your name emblazoned on the front in striking, purple writing. Sans watched you as you pried the letter open with a finger, trying (and failing) to preserve the ostentatious container that had been specially prepared for you.

Unsurprisingly - or maybe it should be surprising in its mundanity? - there was a piece of paper inside. Unfortunately, the highly ornate, lavish script left you completely baffled, and you stared at Mettaton’s gift to you for well over a minute as you tried to puzzle out the arcane geometry inscribed upon the missive.

Ultimately, it was futile, and you finally admitted this as you looked up to the pair’s inquisitive gazes. “I’m not… very good at reading.”

“Oh!” Mettaton’s surprise came out like a burst of static, and he reached out, gently taking the paper from you. “Well, no matter! Reading’s  _ boring.  _ I will - just for you! - use my acting skills to make this invitation special.”

“...Invitation?” you murmured, but you didn’t really have a chance to think on it further because, with little warning, the plates on Metatton’s arms began to reflect light like a disco ball.

“To the Highly Esteemed Crane - the entirety of the New and Improved™ MTT Resort’s staff cordially requests the pleasure of your company at the First Annual Flower Dance, held at the Embassy Ballroom, on the Twenty-Fifth of May at Six o’Clock in the evening. We look forward to presenting you the most magnificent music and marvelous culinary delights on this esteemed evening, and fervently hope that you will delight us with your presence!” Mettaton dropped to one knee sometime during his recital, and he peppered the performance with color-changes, sound effects, and suitably dramatic arm movements.

You were very impressed, and you clapped accordingly.

“Thank you, darling, thank you!” He beamed and, unbeknownst to you, it clashed quite splendidly with Sans’ silent plea for death. “So, what do you think? Will you be able to attend?”

“Um,” you began, mostly to carve out a space in the conversation before Sans could interrupt you. You were going to navigate this  _ without _ his help, thank you. “I’m hesitant about going. I’ve never been to a dance before.”

“Never been to a  _ dance?” _ Mettaton gasped, clearly aghast. “Ever? In the entirety of your existence, you’ve never been to a  _ dance?” _

You weren’t sure how to interpret the special inflection Mettaton put on the word. “No. I’m not really suited for it.”

Mettaton looked up at you, the lights on his face pulsing with thought. “Why do you say that? Do you not think you’d enjoy it?”

“I…” You paused, trailing off before you’d really begun. It wasn’t that it was a party, or rather, if you’d been asked this question at the beginning of spring, you  _ would _ have said it was because it was a party, but Papyrus had shown you that you could enjoy those. You’d liked talking to the people who wanted to know you for…  _ you, _ and you’d liked being there with him, experiencing new things. But the idea of a  _ dance _ made you feel strange, so...

Why was that?

You brought your finger to your mouth, mulling it over until you finally arrived at the only answer you could think of. “Because I don’t really belong at one.”

Sans looked away, and you knew he understood your unsaid thought: parties - dances in particular - were one of the cornerstones of human civilization… and you weren’t really human now, were you?

Mettaton, however, didn’t understand that problem, and neither did you intend to explain it to him, so you expected some amount of confusion. However - it never came and, slowly, the artificial man pushed himself to his feet with a strikingly genuine smile. “I see,” he said, looking back to the door he’d come out from. “Well, I don’t intend to bully you into attending, but I’m very curious as to why you feel this way. Would you like to talk in private?”

You looked back at Sans who, despite his smile, had been permeating the conversation with a profoundly prickly aura. At this though, it fell away like the thorns around a grand castle being cleared to reveal the old stonework underneath, and Sans suddenly seemed less nervous about whatever was transpiring. “well,” he drawled, turning away to the door. “thanks for coming to see me, Crane. i’ll leave you to your business.”

“Goodbye, darling!” Mettaton trilled, blowing Sans a kiss as he left. “I expect only the best from you!”

Mettaton still hung near, waiting for your reply, and you watched Sans’ retreating back as you thought. Did you really want to talk about it? Did you really want to consider going?

The words were out of your mouth before you’d even really thought about them. “Is Papyrus invited, too?”

“Of course! I gave him his invitation a few days ago, though he seemed…” Mettaton tapped his cheek with a bright little ding. “Skeptical that you’d be interested, which is part of the reason why I wanted to speak with you myself. I really would love it if you’d attend, but I’ll respect your wishes if you don’t. I just want to understand.”

Wanted to understand… In a way, you did yourself, so you turned back to him and said, “Very well. I’ll speak with you.”

You’d learned a lot from conversations with others. Perhaps this one would shed some light on your own heart.

 

* * *

 

Mettaton’s office was… both exactly like you expected and yet, somehow, still a complete surprise.

The furniture was smooth, curved, made of jewel-toned plastics and adorned with modern, rounded cushions. His desk was crisp, black, and behind it a giant mirror dominated almost the entirety of the wall, reflecting the entire room back at you in a somewhat dizzying optical illusion that made you entirely uncertain about where the space ended and began. Mettaton held the door open for you, then immediately flounced over to a mini fridge set into the back cabinet once you’d passed through. “What would you like to drink? I have juice - which Papyrus tells me you’re fond of! - but anything from hard liquor to chocolate milk can be brought forth at your request.”

“Um,” you said, intimidated by the range of choices that provided you. “Juice is fine.”

His sparkling smile hung underneath the dome-like lamp illuminating the entirety of the office and, without missing a beat, he withdrew a small box of apple juice and some sort of mysterious bottled beverage for himself. He leaned over, dropping the container into your hand, and as you punctured the small foil hole with the packaged straw, you couldn’t help but ask the burning question on your mind.

“...You can eat and drink things?”

“I can taste, which is good enough, isn’t it?” Mettaton didn’t sit, he  _ lounged _ , and he did so in a flamboyantly large red-cushioned chair sitting behind his desk. This reply felt incredibly bourgeois to you - ostentatious in its pointlessness - though you didn’t really have the vocabulary to properly convey the feeling.

You declined from commenting, and instead sat on one of the strangely shaped chairs, sipping at your juicebox in demure little bursts.

Seeing that you weren’t going to reply, Mettaton uncapped his bottle and, rather than drinking it straight, poured it into a wine glass before raising it to his mouth. “Now, Crane,” he began, gesturing grandly in a way that had to have been perfectly practiced, considering that he didn’t spill a single drop of… whatever liquid was in there. “You said you didn’t feel like you belonged at a dance. Why is that?”

You curled up in your chair, drawing your knees up to your chest as you nursed on your juice. One obvious reply stood out to you easily, so you said that first. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“Ahh, but dancing isn’t a matter of knowledge or ignorance! It’s a feeling you have, deep in your soul… one that you express through motion and convey through your body! Of course, having skill in it makes the display better, but…” He looked down into his drink, musing for a moment, before contemplating you. “...I don’t think  _ skill _ is something that’ll really matter in this situation.”

You felt like he was trying to imply something, but this genuinely went over your head. “Um?”

He laughed, the sound some strange mixture between robotic and human. “Papyrus would be happy to go to a dance with you no matter what. Your skill doesn’t factor into the equation at all.”

“Oh,” you said, a word that bought you time to think. “Um. Out of curiousity, why do you care? That I go, I mean. If you’re talking to me like this, you obviously care, so…”

Mettaton smiled at your perplexed squint. “Darling, I care because you’re important to Papyrus. He’s… very keen, you know, about everything under the sun, but he’s particularly keen on you, and it’d make me happy to see you and him have a good time.”

You fiddled with your straw. “Papyrus is important to you, then? Or do you care about everyone that works for you?”

Mettaton swirled his drink in his glass. (Seriously, what was that? It looked like a wine glass, but the liquid inside was brown and bubbly…?) “I admit to favoring Papyrus especially. It’s... difficult not to get attached to his boundless positivity, and knowing him has put some things in a new light for me. Amazing, I know! The great Mettaton, finding an even better light to illuminate his shining personality in!” 

A pause before another laugh, though it was quieter this time. More sincere. “The surface really is full of wonders.”

You curled your toes in thought. “So you’re grateful to him for something, and you want to pay him back.”

A single, mechanical eyebrow was quirked. Well - actually, maybe both of them went up, it was hard to tell with his hairstyle. “In a way. Though, honestly, my desire to have you attend goes beyond mere nepotism. If it wasn’t obvious, this will mainly be a event for the monster population, and it would… suit my interests to see them mingle with humans - a human magus in particular. Many monsters think of humans as being, well…”

He let out a sigh, and you wondered if he even needed to breathe. “Scary. Particularly wizards, as they sealed us away. I’d like to see those feelings disappear.”

You thought this over, your apple-juice fueling the turning gears of your mind. “So… you want to promote peace?”

A shrug. “I suppose you could call it that. Honestly? I love humans. I think they’re delightful. Particularly you wizards - you’re all so theatrical! The idea that you change the world according to your whims…?” He tilted the glass towards you. “It’s like you’re putting on a performance, and your entire ideology is based around making it so convincing it becomes real. It’s fascinating!”

“Hmn.” You didn’t really know about all that - you were ironically uneducated, which… perhaps even contributed to your ability to perform impossible feats. Sometimes knowledge only put you in a box, and you were a creature that transcended such mundane dimensions. “I understand your intentions a little better now, but I… still don’t…”

“Know if you wish to go?” He asked, folding his hands in front of him, and you nodded.

“I feel like I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Papyrus would show you,” he countered. “Besides, it’s not a party with rules. It’s a celebration of spring. As long as you have fun, it’ll be a good show.”

You finished off your juice, the sound of air rushing through the straw punctuating the silence. “Will he have fun?”

“At a dance with you?” Mettaton laughed, the sound musical - not in the traditional way, but rather the way that club music sounded as it poured out onto darkened streets. “Without question. The more important thing is - would  _ you?” _

“I… had fun at the party Papyrus threw me…” You mused over it softly. “But sometimes things are too…  _ much _ and I need them to be quiet. I might become a nuisance.”

“You wouldn’t be a nuisance. More juice?”

You nodded, and Mettaton continued to talk as he stood. “I have a… few friends like that, who need their space. No one would mind if you slipped away from the festivities to collect yourself, nor would anyone care if you went home early. How you enjoy the company of others is up to you, and no one would think you a nuisance for it.”

He knelt down, and you watched him open the fridge with a clatter. “Even if that’s true… Dances are different from just being a party, aren’t they? The intent of a dance is different.”

“That’s fair, I suppose. A dance is a place to see and be seen. You  _ can _ treat a party like that, but a dance… has a bit of a connotation to it. Why does that make you feel like you wouldn’t belong, though? Do you not want to be seen?” Mettaton looked back at you, and you realized immediately why his proposition made you uncomfortable. It was a simple thing, yet profound in its complexity - and it escaped your mouth before your filter could really catch it. 

“Yes, that’s it. I hate this body that I’m trapped in, I hate being seen like this... so how could I possibly belong at a dance?”

That sentence hung in the air for a moment long enough to make you profoundly insecure, and then - finally! - Mettaton broke the silence with a very quiet, “Ah.”

He sat down, offering you the juice box with a rather restrained gesture. “Would you care to elaborate?”

Somehow, the seriousness of his demeanor put you more at ease, and you leaned forward to take the drink. “You said it yourself; to dance, you must convey emotion through your body. There’s no way I could do that through this body I hate. Even if… I went to the dance and did not, in fact, dance, I would still… that’s still the purpose of the event. Intrinsically, historically, dances are about  _ being seen. _ I can’t be seen for who I really am when I’m like this, so…”

“No, no,” Mettaton waved vaguely, his metallic voice sounding oddly troubled. “I understand that. You don’t have to - ...it makes sense why you’d be uncomfortable. What I mean to say is… What do you hate about your body?”

“Everything,” came out of your mouth easily, and then you realized that you should not, perhaps, speak so freely to Mettaton. But - there was a sort of earnesty to his expression, and it was such a far cry from his earlier pompous air that you found it difficult to doubt his motivations. “My hands. My skin. My legs. My face. Everything is uncomfortable; I hate it all.”

His voice became very… careful. Gentle, despite being punctuated with brief bursts of static. “If you could choose to look like anything, anything at all… What would you look like? Describe your perfect body to me.”

“I’d look like a crane,” you said, as if it was completely and entirely obvious. “I’d take off my skin, and there’d be feathers there instead.”

Mettaton let out another quiet  _ ah.  _ Then, “Is… that why you dress as you do? White, black, and red, to mimic the appearance of a crane?”

You nodded, tapping the long, slender beak of your mask to draw attention to its presence - not that it really needed it. “The colors feel right, and the mask helps me forget what my face looks like. That it’s not right.”

It was strange. Mettaton didn’t look at you like you were strange at all. “Clothes are important; far more important than some people seem to realize. How someone presents themselves… Some might call it vain to be concerned with your own appearance, but I think it makes perfect sense. Not everything is about the soul; the body is important, too. No matter how happy you are with what’s inside, if you can’t stand what you live in, then… things are going to be difficult for you.”

He steepled his hands. “I’m afraid I can’t give you feathers, Crane, nor can I give you a beak. But, there’s something I’d like to show you… if you’ve got the time?”

You had the time. Speaking like this was new to you, and you didn’t really want it to end yet. Not when it felt like you were getting somewhere in understanding the complicated turmoil that was your own heart. 

“I’d like to see.” 

Mettaton finished off his strange beverage before standing again, walking over to a shelf that you hadn’t really paid any mind to before this. It seemed to be a bookcase, though labeled plastic binders lined it instead of the high-and-mighty austere tomes you were used to. Mettaton seemed to know what he was looking for, as he stood in front of the glass cabinet doors for only a few moments before opening them and picking out one of the books with an elegant hand.

None of the expected dramatic flourishes accompanied the motion of him setting it down on the desk, and he opened the binder without preamble, flipping through plastic sheaths until he found what he was searching for. “Here,” he said, tapping a photograph with a metal finger. “Look at this.”

The chair cradled you much like you were a yoke in an egg shell, making it difficult to see, so you stood properly - a juice carton in each hand - and joined Mettaton in looking down at the binder.

This was Mettaton’s fashion bible, you realized. Captured before you were images of humans - well, mostly humans - decorated in ornate outfits and doing… fashion things, strutting down catwalks and posing in front of dramatically lit backgrounds. That was a dull realization though, totally swept aside by the actual reality of what you saw, and you gawked in awe as you traced a finger across the plastic.

They were birds.

They were dressed up like birds.

Feathers, masks, beading, jewelry - each model was dressed in increasingly intricate apparel, the cloth draping vibrantly around their forms. Sure, the transformation wasn’t literal, but they conveyed that… feeling, of lightness, of delicacy, of grace and the brief, introspective moment before flight. These people - and they were  _ people  _ \- felt to you like birds, from the feathery make-up detailed on their face to the wing-like designs flaring out from their dresses.

As you stared down at the photographs and magazine clippings laid out before you, Mettaton gently took your empty juice box and dropped it into the trash. “What do you think?” He asked, leaning on the desk beside you. “Do you like it?”

“I didn’t…” Weird. It was so hard to talk. Was this what people meant when they said they were getting choked up? “Know it was possible to look like that.”

Mettaton smiled down at you, his kind words sounding a bit bizarre with the increasingly robotic edge to them. “It’s nothing like the real thing, I imagine, but as I said - appearances are important. Having confidence in how you look can do a lot to make you feel more secure with your sense-of-self, and… If you’d like, I’d be fully willing to help you feel a little more like a crane for the night.”

You swallowed, and quietly admitted something that you hadn’t ever told anyone else. “Even if a miracle happened, and I could be  _ the real thing _ again, I still don’t think I’d be happy. I’m too much of a - a  _ half.  _ Half of one thing, half of another, both forming a whole that no one else can really understand.”

For a moment, it seemed like Mettaton was going to put a hand on your shoulder, but he - luckily, considering his own well-being - refrained, instead offering you a vaguely wistful smile. “That’s why  _ love  _ and  _ being loved _ is so important - and so much of that starts with one’s appearance. If you can love yourself and how you look, things start to fall into place naturally. And…”

He looked over at the mirror. “...I don’t know how much you’ve spoken with Papyrus about this - nor, obviously, do I fully grasp your situation - but I think I know enough to say… He would never view you as some inadequate facsimile of a person. Ever.”

You sniffled a little, your eyes feeling hot and strange. Before, you would have hated the new sensation, but for some reason, today it felt just a bit more like  _ you.  _ “I - I don’t know what facsimile means.”

“It’s a reproduction of something. Like… a copy.”

“Ah,” you replied, and you wiped at your nose beneath your mask. “I - I, um. I think - I’ll think about what you’ve said. Um, thank you, Mettaton, I…”

“...Would you like some time to yourself?” He said gently, and you gave him a quick nod.

“I need - I think I should talk to Papyrus about some things. Um, thank you, I…” You looked at the juice-box in your hands, then finished it off in a hungry gulp. Without asking, Mettaton stooped for a third time, but he changed up the pace and offered you a bottle of water instead.

“If you want to go outside for awhile, there’s a balcony straight down the hall. Alright?”

You nodded quickly, taking the water before offering a swift bow. “Thank you, again, I…” 

Your voice cracked a little, and Mettaton shooed you with a hand. “Don’t hold it in, darling. I’ll come check on you in a few minutes.”

It was as you were escaping that you realized why Mettaton hadn’t offered to stay with you while you cried. Even if it hadn’t been embarrassing - which it was, you did want to be alone - it probably wasn’t very pleasant to be around you, considering the effect all magi had on technology.

You and him didn’t really belong in the same room, in the same  _ story -  _ and yet, there he was, trying to make an impact on your life despite the odd, erratic beeping you heard as the door shut behind you. He needed to recollect himself just as much as you had, but had tried to sweep it all under the rug so you wouldn’t have yet  _ another  _ thing to worry about.

It was a strange thought, that you were a chess piece in a complex game of political relations, but maybe - if for no other reason - you’d attend to help him out a little. Because…

The fact that you were  _ you _ mattered, didn’t it? And he - despite his…  _ manner,  _ could actually be very kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haaah! I just got home from spending a week in Nebraska with my friend! I didn't get very much done, but I had fun visiting! So, let's see... This is a fashion related chapter - does anyone have any clothing styles they really like? I'm into steampunk (I go to conventions with my friends!) and the mori girl aesthetic, myself.


	19. Thank You for Being Born

Despite Mettaton’s offer to send an escort, you decided to walk home by yourself.

Well, to Papyrus’ home, rather - you supposed you’d started thinking of whatever your final destination was as  _ home,  _ and these days your journies tended to terminate at the skeleton brother’s humble abode. Were you in a different state of mind, you might have been inclined to think upon what exactly that meant for you and the state of your spirit... but for now, you had other things dwell on.

Who were you? What sort of being were you? Could you really, possibly measure up to the expectations people had of you?

...What  _ did  _ people expect of you?

Papyrus had told you he wanted to be your friend. He’d told you that, most of all, just being by your side was most important to him - that he was happy the way you were and happy to help you become whatever you wanted to be. More than anything else, it was  _ that  _ which stuck with you now, and you couldn’t doubt anything about it or his motivations when he’d said it. 

He was so pure. So honest. And after everything, you couldn’t help but believe in his sincerity, because he’d always  _ been _ so sincere. Ever since the beginning, he’d never wanted anything from you besides, well. You. No advice, no predictions, no favors… Since the day he met you, since that day he wanted to thank you, all he’d wanted was for you to eat his spaghetti and be happy that he was around. 

Slowly and unexpectedly, you found that you’d found it, the courage to do what you’d never done before, and - that drive fueling you - you knocked on the door to his shared home, the out-of-season Christmas lights twinkling like the stars above. It opened moments later, suggesting that the man beyond had, in fact, been waiting for you.

“CRANE!” Papyrus immediately beamed down at you with the full force of his smile. “HOW DID IT GO? YOU’VE BEEN OUT FOR AWHILE!”

You had been, hadn’t you? And you hadn’t really walked home particularly quickly; you’d had a lot to think about and, for so long, you’d been such a lethargic creature. A single spring - even if it had been a very good one - wasn’t going to change that so quickly. As you stood in front of Papyrus, it really  _ struck _ you how emotionally and physically exhausting everything had been, and you proceeded to let gravity claim you as you tipped forward, thudding against his chest and using him for impromptu support. 

He froze for a moment, body stiff, but then he put his arms around you and wrapped you up in what you now knew to be a ‘hug’. “DID SOMETHING HAPPEN? WHAT’S THE MATTER?”

“Nothing is wrong,” you said, and surprisingly enough you actually meant it. “I am simply… very tired.”

Papyrus held you like that for a little while, standing in the doorway as the spring wind cut through the growing humidity, but he soon seemed to realize this wasn't a particularly convenient position and began easing you along with him as he moved. “LET’S GO INSIDE. THE COUCH MISSES YOU AND EAGERLY AWAITS BEING USED AS A LIME-COLORED THRONE!

“Okay,” you mumbled, sticking to him like a particularly tricky burr attached to someone’s shirt. Even when he managed to shuffle you to the physical embodiment of questionable design choices, you didn’t really want to let go, and the only thing that ended up satisfying you was Papyrus allowing his lap to be used as a headrest. He didn’t seem quite sure what to do about this, but he swallowed his blush and, after gently resting his hand on your shoulder, inquired about your day. “...HOW DID IT GO?”

“Talked to Sans. It was a misunderstanding. We’re fine.” The bone of his leg poked against your cheek, but even though it wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, it was completely to your satisfaction.

“I KNEW EVERYTHING WOULD WORK OUT! DID HE LIKE YOUR LETTER?” 

“He did.” You paused, and - not wanting to let too much slip about Sans - you changed the topic. “...Mettaton invited me to the ball.”

Papyrus looked down at you for a moment before replying, taking in the curve of your beak and the few strands of hair that slipped out from underneath the hood you always insisted on wearing. “YOU TALKED TO HIM?”

You nodded against his leg. “For some time. He’s… much kinder than I expected. He said you’re invited you, too - are you going?”

“I, UH - ” A thoroughly awkward tone permeated Papyrus’ voice, which was… actually pretty cute, considering his normally confident bearing. “WELL, PROBABLY! I’ll HAVE A LOT OF FRIENDS THERE! ...WHY?”

“...I was wondering if you’d take me.”

You rolled onto your back so you could look up at him, and that action - combined with your request - destroyed all composure he could have possibly been trying to maintain. He averted his gaze, a strange, orange glow creeping across his bone as he stared at the entrance to the kitchen. “ABSOLUTELY! IT ONLY MAKES SENSE, AS I AM A GREAT FRIEND, WHO IS GOOD AT - AS THE COOL KIDS PUT IT - ‘HANGING OUT!’”

“...Do people hang upside-down at balls? Like bats?”

“ERM, NO. IT IS AN EXPRESSION. IT MEANS TO SPEND TIME WITH SOMEONE. OUR BAT-LIKE TENDENCIES DO NOT HAVE TO BE CONFINED TO BALLS!”

“Ah. Alright.” You hummed in vague thought, the sound slipping into silence as you breathed softly and closed your eyes. Papyrus didn’t seem to mind, and he sat like that with you, still and quiet with only the faint ticking of a clock punctuating the silence. Perhaps he thought it prudent to allow you to rest after your tiring day, or perhaps he simply was enjoying the chance to be close to you and wasn’t keen on looking a gift horse in the mouth. 

It was hard to tell how much time passed like that, wrapped up in a slow, drowsy peace, but eventually - the sound a mere wisp in the dimming light of a golden afternoon -you found the will to do something you’d been meaning to for a very long time. “Papyrus?” 

“MMN?” Papyrus jolted a little, and you opened your eyes, wondering if he’d drifted off at all. His sharp cheekbone was propped against his hand, and he looked down at you, clearly a bit dozy, so you assumed the answer was yes. 

“You’ve told me many stories….” The room was cool due to the air-conditioning, but the dusky light made the world feel sort of hazy - rather like a mirage in the middle of summer. “Would you like me to tell you one?”

A smile settled naturally on his face. “OF COURSE! I’D LOVE TO HEAR A STORY FROM THE ETERNALLY EXCELLENT CRANE!”

Your gaze was drawn to the ceiling, and though some of his features still entered your vision, you weren’t able to really look at him directly. “It’s a story that’s sad in some parts. Is that okay?”

“MOST STORIES ARE! EVEN THE SMALLEST OF CHILDREN GET BORED OF STORIES THAT ARE ALWAYS HAPPY ALL THE TIME.”

“...Very well, then. You might cry. Is that okay?”

Papyrus spoke with only the greatest of confidence. “TO TELL A STORY THAT MAKES SOMEONE CRY IS THE HEIGHT OF NARRATIVE GENIUS! IT MEANS THE AUDIENCE CARES SO MUCH THEIR HEART CAN’T TAKE IT AND IT COMES OUT OF THEIR EYES! I CAN THINK OF NO BETTER PRAISE, QUITE HONESTLY.”

“Okay,” you said, folding your hands over your chest and preparing yourself for the beginning. “This is a story that happened a long time ago, in a land that is very far away, to people who never once, in their entire lives, thought that they’d be part of a story at all..”

 

* * *

 

On a certain boy’s eleventh birthday, his father gifted him a rifle along with the assurance that, on the next Saturday, they would finally go hunting together. The boy had admired his father for what felt like an eternity, dreaming of the day when he'd be  _ adult _ enough to bring home food to his family, so he was understandably excited and couldn’t help but look forward to the weekend with great pride.

Ducks were to be their quarry that day, and they arrived in the marsh very early on the morning, set against the light of an auspicious dawn. 

It’s something of a narrative rule that when things start going too wholly, profoundly,  _ sickeningly _ well, that sorrow always lies just around the corner. Happiness is created for the express purpose of its destruction, despair is made all the more crushing by the joy that proceeded it - isn’t that the law of emotion? Consider it like nuclear fission - when the nucleus of an atom is split into parts, an enormous amount of energy is released… and so too is energy released when the bonds of hope are crumbled, shattered into starlight and turned into despair.

It is a fundamental truth of magic that this process creates the most dramatic - and sometimes, the most terrible - of miracles, and it is only fitting that such a thing happened on that day.

Those two were happy. Think what you will of the actual morality of hunting - those first few hours made for profoundly good memories. The boy learned how to shoot - how to aim, how to fire - and his father was filled with immeasurable pride at his son’s diligence. On that day, they could have shot a duck, brought it home, and had a wonderful feast. That evening could have been a party, and the day after, the boy could have been taught how to make flies for fisherman out of the remains.

However, the very first time that boy actually aimed to take a life, he didn’t hit a duck at all. By complete accident, and by complete chance…

He shot a crane instead.

In that place, cranes were a rare breed of bird, treasured and protected by the law. They were respected - though not worshipped - and taking one’s life was seen as a crime. Not wanting his son to get in trouble, that man wanted to keep it a secret. No bird, no matter how beautiful, was worth the price of his son’s suffering, and offloading her corpse was more trouble than just letting her expire peacefully.

However - the child was distraught. Though he had shot her - though they’d come out to kill! - seeing her try with all her might to remain airborne, and yet still be grounded by the ingenuity of man… It broke his heart. To him, it was fine to kill a duck - it would be eaten, it was an intentional death - but to kill this crane, when there were so few left in that land? It was - to this child - a great and horrible tragedy. He cried and cried, becoming completely inconsolable, and begged for his father to help her.

Even though at that point her fate was sealed, he wanted him to save her life - and so, doing the only thing he could think to do, that man picked up that still-struggling bird and brought her to a magician who lived in the marsh.

Perhaps it was fate that a crane was brought to a wizard who loved cranes, who decorated his house with folded paper birds and photographs given to him by his friends. He was an old man who had lived in that house for a long, long time, and everyone knew that his miracles always came at the price of a  _ thousand _ of something, though the  _ something _ in question always varied. Sometimes it was a thousand dollars, sometimes a thousand beads, and once - for a girl praying to get into a very good school - he asked for her to send a thousand messages of luck to a thousand children who needed it.

The price was not always paid, but such wishes had an alarming tendency to always come true when it was, and so he was a man of very high regard due to both his abilities and his age.

The man and the boy made their way as quickly as they could to this magician, knocking on his door in frenzied desperation. They were received - as not all visitors were, since he picked and chose his clients at the door - and as soon as the wizard looked at the bird, he knew that she was going to die. He could see that fate on her.

He told this to the pair, but the young boy begged, saying he would do anything, pay any price to erase the crime which he had committed. He was a sentimental child, soft-hearted and pure, and his father affirmed the promise. He would hunt a thousand ducks for him, he would give him a cloak made from a thousand feathers - he would even fold a thousand paper cranes, should that somehow give this one real bird a future.

The wizard said it was all for naught. Even if such things could lift the iron chains of fate clamped across her, those wishes wouldn’t reach her before she died. The offerings were both the reward and the means for the reward; the petitioner’s thousand toils were necessary to complete the wish. It was impossible without them.

The crane would die. Neither feathers, paper, or even lives could ever change that. But, seeing that little boy’s tears, the great wizard offered another solution. 

When one wishes to evade the police, one puts on a disguise. When one wishes to conceal the truth, they pretend to be something else. And when one wants to defy fate, they must change their shape into something else,  something so different that the hound of retribution could not possibly ever find them.

It was an old magic, a powerful magic, the sort of magic that began the world - and that old, old wizard, though he knew it would cost him his own life in payment, performed that ancient rite on a golden afternoon. It’s difficult to speculate on his motivations - perhaps he knew he was to die soon, and he wanted to pass on in a manner befitting of one of the great stories rather than quietly and silently on his bed. Perhaps he wanted to give his life for a last kindness, in showing such a young boy a final miracle. Perhaps he simply loved cranes that much, and thought it fitting to die for one - though that would be an ironic motivation, considering everything.

Could it really be called saving the crane’s life, when she would never be a crane again?

A very long time ago, in a very far away land, to avert a fate of certain death, a wizard made a bird into a human and, in doing so, created something that was supposed to be impossible. A girl of miracles, a girl born from magic itself, whose existence was so tied into fate that she could read fate itself and whose heart was spared from the curse of humanity because she was not born human.

There are many fairy tales that contain these elements - of transformation and transfiguration, or men becoming beasts and beasts becoming men, but none tell the story of what it’s actually  _ like. _

“Papyrus,” you said in a voice that was wholly your own and yet, somehow, was still so  _ foreign,  _ still so  _ strange.  _ “Birds think differently from people. No matter how many stories you tell about them, no matter what you think of the wise raven god and the crane that sheds her feathers and becomes a wife, in the end - birds are still birds. They may have hopes, but they are simple ones. They may have aspirations, but they’re not really aware of the future. They may feel sorrow - but birds do not know what  _ regret  _ is.”

You stared at a ceiling that seemed to box in the entire world. “And a bird that has lost it’s ability to fly does not live for long, so there is not an eternity for it to suffer.”

Papyrus had, long since, lost any trace of good humor, instead staring at you with a strange mixture of horror, fascination, and dumbfounded wonder. “MOST FOOD IS TOO MUCH FOR YOU BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T GROW UP EATING IT.”

“Yes.”

“YOU OFTEN DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE FEELING BECAUSE YOU AREN’T USED TO FEELING LIKE A HUMAN DOES.”

“That’s right.”

“YOU DON’T REALLY UNDERSTAND JOKES BECAUSE HUMAN LANGUAGE DOESN’T COME NATURALLY TO YOU.”

“Correct,” you said softly, because why would a bird know anything about the words of men?

“AND YOU’RE IMMUNE TO THE BEAST - “

“Because the Beast is the scourge of humanity, and I was not born under that curse.”

Papyrus stared down at you, a whole lot of things suddenly making far more sense now, and - quite suddenly - he scooped you into his arms and picked you up.

“Papyrus?” You asked, unsure of what exactly this response meant.

“I’M SORRY. IF I’D KNOWN, I WOULD HAVE DONE A LOT OF THINGS DIFFERENTLY.”

You felt so little and light in his grip, although part of that was simply because  _ were  _ too light to be human. If someone cracked open your bones, they wouldn’t be hollow, and if someone cut you open, you’d have all the organs a human was supposed to have but there was just  _ something strange  _ about you. The fragments of your past that still clung to your skin, setting you apart from naturally born people. “You haven’t done anything wrong. Never once have you been unkind to me for any of my… strangeness.”

“STILL!” The steps squeaked beneath his shoes. “SIMPLE THINGS THAT EVERYONE IN THE WORLD TAKES FOR GRANTED ARE DIFFICULT FOR YOU. I’D SORT OF UNDERSTOOD THAT, BUT HADN’T REALLY.. UNDERSTOOD WHAT IT  _ MEANT. _ ”

“That’s fair, I suppose. I worry about filling roles like ‘daughter’, ‘friend’, and…” You paused, not quite able to look at him. “‘Girlfriend’, because I have no context for the duties and expectations required of them. And…”

Papyrus stopped, shifted you so he could reach up to the ceiling to pull on a cord you’d never noticed before. You watched in fascination as a set of stairs unfolded from the panel he revealed, and only after a few seconds did you remember you were in the middle of saying something. “For so long, all I could bear to do was sleep. The waking world was too exhausting for me. The sights, the sounds, the smells - that was probably the most alarming thing, at first. Human beings can smell very well. Birds cannot.”

Waking up after being in agony to find you were something strange, something different, with two shocked people who were completely and wholly uncertain of what to do with you… Calling it  _ startling _ would be a gross understatement. 

Papyrus carefully began climbing once more, lifting you through the hole into the murky gloom of an attic you hadn’t even known existed - although thinking about the floor plan of the home, it only made sense that it did. It was predominantly empty, filled with dust and a number of cobwebs, although an assortment of boxes stacked in the corner revealed its use as a storage space. “IT WAS ALL BETTER IN YOUR DREAMS, I IMAGINE.”

“It was.” Light from a nearby window spilled onto your face as Papyrus approached it. “A wizard’s dreams are magic all on their own, and they, using their dreams, can create a world where anything is possible… even the defiance of fate. Unfortunately, the most powerful dreams - the ones produced in sleep that can create entire worlds - are the most fragile.”

Papyrus briefly set you down so he could open the window, and you rested all your weight on him to keep yourself upright. “...ARE YOU… TRYING TO SLEEP LESS FOR MY SAKE?”

“No.” You said simply, gaze drawn to the world beyond the dusty glass. “I’m doing it for mine.”

“I’M - GLAD. ER... I HOPE I’M TAKING THIS WELL.” Papyrus clambered through the opening in a way that looked particularly precarious considering the slant of the roof it hung over, but he either had a finely honed sense of balance or the ability to defy gravity, because he didn’t seem to have too much trouble keeping his balance and helping you through as well. “...I FEEL A BIT OUT OF MY DEPTH!”

Though you could stand well enough, you didn’t really like the sensation of tiles beneath your feet, and you were grateful when he scooped you back up and began picking a path up to the rooftop’s flat peak. “You’re doing fine... I’m sorry if it was strange to tell you so suddenly.”

He protested, of course. “NO! NOT AT ALL! I’M BEYOND THRILLED - ECSTATIC, PERHAPS? MY BONES ARE TINGLING!”

“Truly?” You squinted at him. “I’d been anticipating a bit more disbelief about it.”

He kind of shrugged, smiling down at you in his arms. “HONESTLY? I KIND OF THOUGHT YOU MIGHT  _ LITERALLY  _ BE A BIRD. THOUGH.” A pause. “...AGAIN, I DIDN’T REALLY UNDERSTAND THE IMPLICATIONS OF IT.”

“That’s natural. The implications of my existence are tremendous.” Underneath the cloudy spring sky, your voices seemed to have a little more room to breathe, and the world was so much wider, like you could forget how trapped and cramped your spirit felt. You were sure that was what Papyrus intended, standing and holding you beneath the sky. He didn’t want you to feel like you were drowning anymore.

For a while, he was silent, the height not seeming to bother him any as you stared over the canopy of houses stretched out below. “I’M SORRY THAT HAPPENED TO YOU. I’M SORRY YOU HAD TO SUFFER SO MUCH, AND I’LL DO EVERYTHING I CAN TO MAKE IT BETTER. BUT I WANT YOU TO KNOW…”

He looked down at you at this, capturing you with a suddenly serious gaze. “WHAT YOU MENTIONED ABOUT ‘ROLES,’ CRANE - EACH RELATIONSHIP A PERSON HAS WITH ANOTHER IS INDIVIDUAL. EACH FATHER HAS A DIFFERENT RELATIONSHIP TO HIS CHILDREN. EACH DAUGHTER HAS A DIFFERENT RELATIONSHIP TO HER MOTHER. NO TWO BROTHERS HAVE THE SAME EXACTLY RELATIONSHIP, AND NEITHER DO TWO FRIENDS.”

“...RELATIONSHIPS ARE UNIQUE, THOUGH THERE ARE COMMON TRENDS BETWEEN THEM. EACH ONE IS SPECIAL IN ITS OWN WAY. YOU ARE NOT AN UNSATISFACTORY PERSON. YOU ARE NOT FAILING AT BEING A HUMAN, JUST AS YOU ARE NOT FAILING AT BEING A BIRD. YOU HAVE YOUR OWN WAY OF EXISTING… AND YOU HAVE YOUR OWN WAY OF FORMING RELATIONSHIPS WITH PEOPLE.”

“PLEASE,” he said, and he smiled then. “DON’T EVER WORRY ABOUT NOT BEING ABLE TO TREASURE PEOPLE PROPERLY, JUST BECAUSE YOU WEREN’T BORN LIKE EVERYONE ELSE WAS. LOVE IS LOVE, AND I’M PRETTY SURE BIRDS ARE STILL MADE OF LOVE, JUST LIKE EVERYTHING ELSE IN THE WORLD - RIGHT?”

Your eyes felt hot, and you sat up as much as you could, leaning your head against his chest. It’s something you had started to come to realize when talking to Mettaton, but Papyrus had just buried it in your heart like a nail being hammered into a plank of wood. You were a unique individual, not a creature stuck between both and achieving neither. You could have your own way of doing things, your own way of living, and your own way of forming relationships and being happy.

Not only were you lost in the woods, but no path for you had even existed. It had disappeared into the mist that day you lost your form as a bird. It was not a matter of finding your path out of the darkness - you had to create something entirely new, but Papyrus was by your side, wasn’t he? 

He was devoted to you because, first and foremost, he was your  _ friend…  _ and friends helped each other like this, didn’t they?

“Thank you,” you said. “There were many times I wished I could sleep forever, but I’m glad I survived and met you.”

Papyrus tucked your head underneath his chin. “I KNOW YOU NEVER ASKED FOR THIS, BUT THANK YOU FOR BEING BORN. THERE ARE SO MANY PEOPLE WHO LOVE YOU… AND EVERY ONE OF THEM IS HAPPY ABOUT HOW FAR YOU’VE COME.”

You sniffled. It was hard not to, with the aching pain thudding in your chest. You’d never spoken these words before - both the Primus and the Inquisitor knew your story, and you’d had no one else to tell. How could you admit how vile you felt when everyone wished upon your fallen wings?

You hadn’t had the bravery before now, but… “Papyrus. Will you listen to me say something else?”

“OF COURSE. I’LL LISTEN TO YOU UNTIL THE STARS FILL THE SKY! ...THOUGH AT SOME POINT TOMORROW I’LL NEED TO GO TO WORK AND PRESERVE MY STATUS AS A RESPONSIBLE EMPLOYEE.”

Somehow, this managed to make you smile. “I won’t keep you for that long. I simply… wanted to provide some context for my situation.”

“WELL THEN - GO AHEAD! ALIGN MY PERSPECTIVE!”

It was so hard to feel…  _ sad  _ or  _ grim  _ when faced with such an unstoppably good humor, and the words came a little easier than they might have otherwise. “That day, with Canterbury and Rust… do you remember it?”

“IT’S DIFFICULT TO FORGET FACING A DEMON! WHAT ABOUT IT?”

You felt cozy here, cozy and safe, such a far cry from that terrible night. “Do you remember… how Canterbury looked at me, when she called me an angel?”

This gave Papyrus a pause, and from the throaty hum that vibrated in his throat, you could tell he was starting to work it out. “...I DO, YES.”

“It’s… painful, for so many reasons. I’ve already been turned from a bird to a human - I don’t want to be transformed into a god. But that’s what their belief could do to me, should it become too commonplace. By cleansing the Beast…” You fidgeted. “I am seen as a miracle. Even if I don’t wish it, the belief of a magus can change the world. It could change me too, should it become too commonplace.”

Papyrus’ fingers tightened on your shoulder. “I… THINK I UNDERSTAND. IT’S LIKE - BECOMING A CELEBRITY, RIGHT? BUT INSTEAD OF BEING AN IDOL, YOU’D BECOME AN  _ ANGEL.” _

“Yes. And - not only am I not ready to bear such a burden… I…” As if seeking some sort of comfort from him, your fingers tightened on his shirt, the red cloth blending in with the fabric of your gloves. “...I’m not a human, Papyrus, but the people who see me work? They think - that I am a miracle of  _ mankind.  _ Hope for them, that they can be free of their curse… Hope that they may not have to suffer anymore. Because if one person can be born pure, then perhaps the entirety of humanity can be saved?”

“But I’m not.” You sounded so lost, so bitter. “I’m a bird that became a human. Unless I become a god, I cannot save them all. As I am now, I can only try to find a happy outcome for those I hold dear. Isn’t it selfish?”

Papyrus shook his head, brushing his chin across you hat. “IT’S NOT YOUR DUTY TO SAVE THEM ALL, CRANE.”

You paused. “I’m… surprised. I’d thought you’d have a different reply.”

He laughed softly, though it was a warm sound, not self-derisive or mocking in the least. “YOU THOUGHT I’D TELL YOU TO BE A GREAT HERO AND SAVE EVERYONE?”

“...It seemed in character, yes.”

“WHEN I WAS A LITTLE YOUNGER… I MIGHT HAVE SAID SOMETHING LIKE THAT, WITHOUT REALLY UNDERSTANDING THE KIND OF BURDEN THAT MINDSET BRINGS WITH IT. I’M… HONESTLY, THIS ‘GODHOOD’ BUSINESS YOU MENTIONED IS A BIT OF A PUZZLE, AND I’M NOT REALLY SURE HOW LITERALLY YOU MEAN IT. BUT - LET ME SEE IF I HAVE THIS STRAIGHT. IF EVERYONE KNEW ABOUT THE KIND OF THINGS YOU COULD DO AND TREATED YOU LIKE AN ANGEL - YOU’D PROBABLY BE ABLE TO HELP A LOT OF PEOPLE, RIGHT? YOU COULD RELIEVE THEM OF THEIR BURDENS.”

“Yes.”

“BUT!” It was a word that should have been accompanied with some sort of dramatic point but, unfortunately, his hands were full. “WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE YOU THAT HELPS THEM ALL?”

You weren’t really following his logic. “Because… I’m the only one who can. Your confusion on the nature of godhood is understandable - and I  _ do  _ mean it literally. If I used my abilities to their full extent, I would be omnipotent. I could solve any problem in the world. That is the essence of godhood, and my very particular circumstances make me a candidate for the position. If I don’t, who will?”

“SHOULD THE PROBLEMS OF MONSTERS AND MEN REALLY BE SOLVED BY GODS?”

“...What?” You blinked, and then you pulled back so you could look at him. He adjusted his hold on you accordingly.

“PUT ANOTHER WAY, DO YOU BELIEVE THAT THE WORLD IS SO BROKEN THAT THE ONLY THING THAT CAN FIX IT IS A GOD?”

_ Yes,  _ you wanted to say immediately, but you decided to do him the credit of actually considering his point of view. “We’re… discussing fundamental truths of the world, of the way magic itself works. Despair becomes a very real, very  _ physical  _ presence in wizards - no matter how you view the origin, that fact cannot be ignored. What can change a law of the universe but the divine? It’s like asking things to fall up instead of down or the sun to stop producing heat. Only a god can do that.”

“ALRIGHT, LET’S ACCEPT THAT AS TRUTH FOR NOW. WHY IS THE ONLY SOLUTION FOR YOU TO BECOME SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO BE? AND, FURTHER - LET’S ASSUME YOUR SOLUTION WORKS. HOW DO YOU KNOW MORE PROBLEMS WOULDN’T BE CAUSED BY YOU BECOMING GOD?”

Another pause. You were kind of overwhelmed with sounds at the moment. “What?”

Papyrus smiled gently, lowering the force of his voice. “What I’m saying, Crane, is that I don’t understand all this. I don’t get how it works, I don’t really understand what it all means… But I - in my very lifetime! - watched a ten year old child do something that everyone else thought was  _ impossible.  _ Something that everyone thought an  _ angel  _ needed to do. And that - I was a pretty hopeful and idealistic guy before, y’know? I wanted to do great things. The best things! But that really sunk it in, that not even the smartest people in the world have a full grasp of what's possible. There’s always room for the unknown. There’s always room for  _ miracles.” _

“And,” he continued, looking up to the sky now. “This godhood business. Let’s say you  _ do  _ become a god and fix the way the world works so no magi ever becomes a demon again. Do you think having an unwilling god wouldn’t come with problems of its own? ...Do you think things really are that easy? Wouldn’t you rather…”

You watched him speak, watched the light reflect off of the bone of his face and highlight the edge of his jaw. “...Believe that people - just… people, average, amazing, wonderful  _ people _ , have the ability to fix things? Wouldn’t you rather believe that we don’t have to rely on a god to save us; that we have the power to save ourselves?”

Here he was, challenging the core,  _ fundamental philosophy  _ behind all of your guilt, all of your suffering... everything that had kept you pinned in place for so long - and he did it so calmly! So confidently! He did it with a smile on his face, and it  _ frustrated  _ you. How did he make it all seem so easy…? “I would, but it’s  _ not true.  _ I remain idle because I am scared, and because I am scared of leaving behind everything I know for something huge and painful and unknown. I am a coward! I am… such a coward… No matter what value I have as Crane the person, Crane the god would be able to do so much more.”

“...How do you know?” He said simply, his voice serious and calm. “It’s not like you’re a god right now. So how are you so certain that there’s no other way and that  _ you alone _ should bear the burden? This is a problem that affects all of humanity! Shouldn’t the entirety of humanity come together to help you solve it?”

“I…” You said quietly, trailing off. There was a hesitancy to your expression, a reluctance, and Papyrus couldn’t help but prompt you on.

“Crane?”

Tilting your head, you looked over at the orange-tinted rooftops, your mouth thinning into a line. “A god told me.”

It would be hard to judge Papyrus if he wanted to, at that moment, drop all this. Drop you, drop the situation, and turn his back on the bizarre story he’d gotten himself wrapped up in. But he didn’t, because he liked you,  _ cared  _ about you, and all of this - gods, demons, and matters of the divine? - it paled in comparison to the depths of that affection. So - in the manner of a man diving feet-first into the deep end of a pool - he continued to hold you, contemplating you seriously as he asked, “A god?”

You nodded, your still-averted gaze telling him that you clearly didn’t expect him to believe you. “In a dream.”

“WELL!” He exclaimed, bringing himself back to his normal cheer. “I’D HATE TO QUESTION THE INTEGRITY OF A GOD, BUT I STILL RECOMMEND YOU THINK SERIOUSLY ABOUT THE SCOPE OF THIS PROBLEM. THIS ISN’T A BURDEN FOR YOU TO BEAR ALONE. HEROES SAVE PEOPLE, BUT HEROES ARE ALSO MERE MORTALS! AND HEROES ALWAYS WORK TOGETHER - THAT’S WHY SUPER HEROES WORK IN TEAMS! SO, CRANE. I HAVE A SERIOUS QUESTION FOR YOU.”

“Yes?” You asked, finally looking back up at him.

“WILL YOU ACCEPT ME AS YOUR PARTNER IN HEROISM? 

You blinked, not sure how to take this sudden shift in the conversation. “What?”

“WILL YOU, CRANE, ALLOW ME - THE GREAT HERO PAPYRUS, CLEVEREST AND MOST HANDSOME OF THE MONSTERS - TO HELP YOU SAVE PEOPLE IN A WAY THAT BRINGS THE ENTIRE WORLD JOY,  _ INCLUDING  _ YOU?”

Your watched him. He watched you. He practically  _ sparkled,  _ and your heart - which, for so long, so  _ very  _ long, had been weighed down by an iron bullet… finally felt light again. A long time ago, you would have fought this, but… now? Even if Sans hated it, even if you were afraid - you couldn’t deny him or his sincerity. “It might be hard sometimes. You might get hurt. Is that okay?”

His face broke out into the biggest grin you’d seen yet. “EVERY HERO HAS TO OVERCOME SOME COOL CHALLENGES! OTHERWISE NO ONE WILL READ ABOUT THEM, RIGHT?”

“Papyrus?” you said, managing to speak through your stunned haze. “Will you put me down?”

He did so carefully, lowering you until your feet touched the rough tiles of the roof. Carefully, you stood, and - with two brief motions - you tugged off your gloves. Though he watched you carefully, he didn’t interrupt, allowing you to thrust your hand out towards him, pinky extended.

“WHAT’S THIS?” he asked, looking down at your outstretched hand.

“Pinky promise. It’s a very special way of swearing an oath.” You peered up at him, mask glinting in the light. “You promise? You swear yourself to be a hero with me?”

“GLADLY! WITHOUT RESERVATION!”

You nodded seriously, and showed him the mechanics of how it was done, winding your small little finger around his huge, bony joint. He seemed a little perplexed, but he accepted the gesture gladly, squeezing your finger beneath his own. “Now it’s official. If you break a promise like that, you’ll be struck by lightning and eaten by ants.”

“REALLY!” Papyrus said, sockets widening in surprise. “THAT’S VERY SERIOUS!”

You nodded. Schoolchildren took things  _ very _ seriously.

Papyrus kept his finger around yours, as if he was afraid the spell of today would be broken if he let go. “...HOW ARE YOU FEELING, NOW? STILL GUILTY?”

“Sort of,” you admitted, glancing at your joined hands and mulling over something. “But I’ll think about what you’ve said. I… thank you, for you input. I’ve never spoken to anyone about this before.”

It only made sense. Who could you tell? And the two men who knew the most about your predicament - the Primus and Legbiter - were the  _ last _ people to give you that sort of advice, considering everything.

“OF COURSE, CRANE. I… UH…” He faltered slightly. “YOU’VE MADE ME THINK A LOT LATELY, ABOUT A LOT OF THINGS. AND THAT THINKING HAS BEEN… REALLY GOOD FOR ME! SO THANK YOU, THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH! ...I KNOW… THIS KIND OF LIFE WASN’T YOUR CHOICE. AND I KNOW - I KNOW YOU’VE PROBABLY FELT BITTER ABOUT THAT, I CAN’T IMAGINE HOW YOU WOULDN’T. BUT I’M GLAD I GOT THE CHANCE TO MEET YOU. REALLY AND TRULY.”

“THANK YOU,” he said firmly. “THANK YOU FOR BEING YOU.”

You acted on those thoughts of yours, suddenly shifting your grip until you could hold his hand more properly. His gaze immediately darted down, his face taking on an increasingly orangey tone in the dying light, but he didn’t have the chance to say anything before you did. “You’re right. I was bitter. Sometimes I asked - ...why? Why did this happen to me? Was it really so important that I lived…?”

Papyrus squeezed your hand, calming himself down from his flustered state. This wasn’t really the conversation for this sort of thing. “I’M SURE… HE THOUGHT HE WAS DOING THE RIGHT THING. IT’S LIKE THOSE STORIES YOU MENTIONED. HE DIDN’T REALLY KNOW WHAT HE WAS ASKING OF YOU WHEN HE WANTED YOU TO LIVE AS A HUMAN.”

“I wonder…”

A sudden breeze blew, and you felt your hat begin to lift from your head. Hurriedly, you smacked your other hand on top of it, not quite willing to let it go yet, and - reacting at much the same time - Papyrus’ hand landed on top of yours.

You stared up at him.

He stared down at you.

And - suddenly - he laughed, a bounding series of NYEH-HEH-HEH echoing through the air, and you, taken by the sudden ridiculousness of the situation, joined in with a little giggle.

“I TRIED TO BE COOL ABOUT IT, BUT YOU SUDDENLY TELLING ME ALL YOUR BIG SECRETS WAS REALLY SURPRISING.”

Your laugh was short, muted - you didn’t really feel like you had the breath for his boisterous displays of amusement. “...I am sorry, I was - thinking about telling you as I walked home. I don’t know how to lead into things like this.”

“FAIR ENOUGH!” He grinned. Seeing your smile turned him into the living embodiment of the sun. “PICKING THE ROOF AS A BACKDROP TO A CONVERSATION ABOUT GODS AND FATE SEEMS PRETTY FITTING! IT’S LIKE SOMETHING THAT WOULD HAPPEN IN ONE OF METTATON’S DRAMAS.”

“Mettaton’s… dramas?” You asked, canting your head to the side quizzically.

“AH! YES. HE’S AN ACTOR, YOU KNOW! ...CALLING HIM ‘OVERWHELMING’ IS AN ASTRONOMICAL UNDERSTATEMENT, WHICH IS WHY I WAS NERVOUS ABOUT HIM MEETING YOU, BUT… I REALLY THINK HE DOES HAVE TALENT! HE INSPIRES A LOT OF PEOPLE.”

“I… think I would like to see something he’s in. Do you have any?”

“HAVE ANY! THAT’S LIKE ASKING IF WATER IS WET, OR IF ENTROPIC DECAY IS SLOWLY CONSUMING THE UNIVERSE!”

“...What?”

“THAT MEANS YES.”

“Oh, alright.” You looked to your bare feet, curling your toes idly. “Could we… watch some? I’d like to stop thinking about things, if that’s alright.”

He lightly rubbed his thumb across your hand, an idle, comforting gesture that he probably didn’t even realize he was doing. “OF COURSE. LET’S GO WATCH TERRIBLE TELEVISION. WE CAN TALK ABOUT OTHER THINGS LATER! LIKE… HOW I CAN HELP YOU, OTHER QUESTIONS I HAVE, AND…”

Papyrus boosted his confidence enough to force out, “PLANS FOR THE BALL!”

“Mettaton said he’d dress me up,” you said, allowing Papyrus to lift you back into his arms.   
  
“REALLY,” said Papyrus, with the voice of a man who was preparing to face his own death. “ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE COMFORTABLE WITH THAT?”

“I think so. Again, he’s surprisingly kind.”

Papyrus laughed a little, picking his way down to the edge of the slanted rooftop. He completely avoided the window, but you trusted him enough not to question it. “HE KNOWS WHAT IT’S LIKE TO HAVE A TOUGH TIME. HEY, CRANE - HOLD ON, OKAY?”

You held on as requested, and - like it was completely and absolutely normal - Papyrus jumped off the roof.

To be honest, this had kind of become your ‘normal’. Monsters, magi - in a lot of ways, they were more similar than most liked to admit. Right this second, you saw it in their mutual  _ style _ and  _ flair, _ but - it was also in their concern for emotions and their naturally idealistic natures. That ability to  _ believe _ , it rung true in you, and - as an outsider - you could see the commonalities between them. You could see the inherent tragedy in the current situation, because to you, it felt natural that they should be  _ friends. _

Looking at Papyrus - watching his grin as he landed and did a dramatic twirl - and remembering how it hadn’t been you, but  _ him _ that had figured out how to save Canterbury from herself… you thought you might have grasped the picture of a happy future. It wasn’t much - it was just the edges - but wasn’t that how a jigsaw puzzle was built? Corners first, and then the middle could be filled in as the pieces slowly came together. It was a rough shape, but…

...It was a start. It was a  _ maybe. _ And that was far better than anything anyone had known for a long, long time.

In love, in friendship, in trust - ...maybe Papyrus was right. Maybe the world didn’t need a god to save it. Maybe…

Maybe things like that could be enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I suppose at this point I should tell you all the story of how Papyrus Dates a Bird came to be. It was around Christmas - just a few weeks after I posted the first chapter of So I Think You've Got the Wrong Number - and I was on my second margarita of the evening when someone decided that we should all watch the Last Unicorn. Right around the middle, Lady Amalthea's plight inspired this incredibly vivid image of a Crane who slept her days away because she couldn't bear the burden of being human. I wrote down a huge portion of the plot in a fervent rush as soon as the movie ended, and the early chapters were accompanied by me blasting the theme song over and over again.
> 
> Has anything like that ever happened to you? Have you ever read and/or watched something that just made you sit and go, "Yes, I have this amazing idea?"


	20. Dancing With The Stars - Or Birds, I Guess...?

The two brothers flanked MTT’s dressing room and, had they not been wearing a pair of matching corsages, they might have almost looked like high-class security guards.

Emphasis on the almost. Not every suit was created equal, and most men-in-black didn’t have  _ coattails  _ branching off the bodies of their jackets... not did they wear straight-ribbed, pristine white shirts and shoes so shiny they reflected the neon lighting around them. Well, okay.  _ Papyrus’ _ shoes shone. Sans’ - even though they hadn’t left his closet since Papyrus had bought them for his older brother’s first job interview  - still had managed to accumulate what looked like well-worn scuff marks.

Sans didn’t even walk anywhere. How had his shoes gotten messy? 

“you nervous, bro?” Sans asked, hands in his pockets as he looked over askance. He had  _ that _ sort of expression on his face, that wry, awful grin and those teasingly slanted eyes which made Papyrus huff. Even after all this time, he was still goaded on by it.

“OF COURSE NOT. I LIVE FOR PARTIES! IF ONE WERE TO BOIL THE GREAT PAPYRUS’ BONES, THE RESULTING BROTH WOULD BE SERVED AT ONLY THE GRANDEST OF BALLS.”

“uh- _ huh.” _ He looked over at the neon star emblazoned on the door between them, watching it twinkle in the aesthetically gloomy hall. “whatever floats your boat.”

“MY BOAT IS KEPT AFLOAT BY BUOYANCY AND CAREFUL MAINTENANCE, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. I DON’T NEED YOUR COY ALLEGATIONS.”

Sans snorted, which seemed to be the end of that, considering the idle silence that followed and the way he spent a few minutes playing with his phone. Papyrus shifted, fabric rustling in a way that suggested awkward anxiety, but he kept that smile broad upon his features, like a well-maintained streetlight in the respectable part of town.

Mettaton certainly was taking his time with you.

A soft buzz rumbled against the bones of Sans’ hand, and he chuckled softly, that smile sloping into something a bit more natural. “hey bro, Tori’s got a question for ya.”

“OH! YES, OF COURSE! WHAT DOES HER INIMITABLE, REGAL, AND VERY FLUFFY MAJESTY WISH TO INQUIRE OF HER MOST ENTHUSIASTIC CHAMPION?”

“well, if you  _ had  _ to pick a drink for someone to throw at you - like, glass and all - what kind would it be?”

Papyrus squinted. “ARE YOU ASKING WHAT KIND OF CONCOCTION I WOULD LIKE TO BE DOUSED IN, SHOULD I HAVE TO HAVE SOMETHING POURED UPON THESE HANDSOME BONES?”

“something like that, yeah.”

Papyrus mulled over this with the dutiful seriousness he gave every such inquiry. “WELL. I’D PROBABLY PICK AN ENERGY DRINK!”

“oh? why’s that?” 

Papyrus put his hand on his chest in a manner that was clearly stolen from monsterkind signature pop star. “BECAUSE I, LIKE OTHER EXCELLENT THINGS, SUCH AS TELEVISIONS, HAIR DRYERS, AND THE LARGE HADRON COLLIDER - NEED LOTS OF ENERGY TO FUNCTION, AND CONSUMING IT VIA OSTEO-OSMOSIS SEEMS LIKE A VERY EFFICIENT SOLUTION.” Then, as an aside, “BESIDES, WOULDN’T  _ YOU _ WANT TO HAVE ROCKSTAR JUICE POURED UPON YOU?”

Sans ho-hummed over the question, scuffing his shoe against the chromatic ground. “dunno. question implies that it’d be the whole can thrown at you, and that kind of seems like it’d hurt.”

“WELL, SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO SUFFER FOR EXCELLENCE, SANS.”

“i think i’d like someone to throw soda at me, personally.”

Papyrus looked over, his expression one of perpetual innocence. “WHY’S THAT?”

“well, bro… that’s cuz it’s a  _ soft drink.” _

From behind the dressing room door, some hat-stand or another toppled over, and the clattering produced a sound that could vaguely be transcribed as  _ ba-dum-tish. _

“SANS!” Papyrus wailed, balling up his fists and stamping his foot against the ground. The heel clicked imperially against the floor, the sound reminiscent to a prince throwing a tantrum in a palace. “WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME? WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I DESERVE THIS? WAS I A WAR CRIMINAL IN A PAST LIFE? IS THIS SOME SORT OF TWISTED KARMATIC JUSTICE?”

Sans snickered. “i’m surprised you’d even entertain that possibility.”

“IT WOULD BE SUITABLY DRAMATIC. THE GREATEST HERO IN THE WORLD, IN A PRIOR LIFETIME, WAS THE SURLIEST VILLAIN TO EVER STRIKE A FIENDISH POSE! AHH… PERHAPS I AM BIDDEN TO SUCH HEIGHTS OF EXCELLENCE BECAUSE MY SOUL KNOWS IT NEEDS TO PAY THE WORLD BACK FOR ITS CRIMES.”

Papyrus wrapped his arms around himself and, were the lighting less moody, he might have actually glimmered with angelic fervor.

“that sounds plausible,” Sans began, but whatever joke he was going to lead into was interrupted by the sound of the opening door. 

“LADIES, GENTLEMEN, AND OTHER HONORABLE GUESTS!” Mettaton announced with his hands spread out to the ceiling, which was basically the height of ridiculousness considering that Sans and Papyrus were the only ones in the hall. His puffy dress - and it really was an incredibly puffy and royal dress - only added to this effect. “Without further ado, may I humbly present to you - the Lady of the Marsh, Crane!”

Sans, of course, was too dead inside to be caught off guard by anything, but Papyrus flinched back, surprised by the sudden bombastic entrance complete with misty smoke pouring out from the portal of extravagance and lights flickering on the underbelly of the rolling clouds. 

For this audience of two, Mettaton kneeled, extending his hand out to lead the eye to the doorway, and he stayed there as the fog drifted, seconds rolling up on each other like a gathering snowball, until - after a significant period of silence - he called out… “Crane, darling, are you coming out?”

Your voice came out small and hesitant. “Um.” If Papyrus peered, he could see something like your silhouette in the fog, an odd, misty shadow that he wasn’t quite sure how to interpret. “Er, so I just… walk?”

“Yes, but with  _ style!  _ Just like I showed you.” A metallic flourish accented the word, and all three men could hear you shuffle a bit. 

“That was a bit…” You hesitated even more now, and Papyrus finally came to his senses, looking over at his brother briefly before calling out to you.

“IT’S OKAY, CRANE! JUST DO IT WITH YOUR NATURAL STYLE.”

The encouragement seemed to work, because after another moment of hesitation, you stepped out from the Mettaton Brand Drama Mist™ and fully into view in the hall.

The light draped across you like a silken gown, settling into the exposed curve of your neck and the winding coils of your hair. You wore your mask still, but it gleamed like freshly polished silver, all of the scuffs and markings buffed away with tenderness and care. Your dress - and you were wearing a  _ dress _ \- fanned around your knees, given an airy, light feeling by the ruffled chiffon stacked in layers underneath feather-covered white fabric. Your black leggings stood out starkly against the garment, and your pleated sleeves gradually morphed into the same color, shining out in a polished black at the tips. They were a bit too long, though that was probably intentional - it made you look a little mysterious, with only the tips of your red gloves visible beneath the translucent fabric.

You were, of course, not wearing shoes, and you stood on the balls of your feet, shifting your weight in clear uncertainty. Apparently, you didn’t really know what your  _ natural style _ was.

“Come on, darling!” Mettaton cooed, moving his metal fingertip around in a circle. “Do a little twirl!”

You did so, spinning neatly on your toes and making your dress rustle in a cascade of shifting cloth. A gently sloping triangle was cut out of the back, revealing your shoulder blades and a few notches of your spine, and it was then that Papyrus really noticed the careful makeup imparting the illusion of feathers on your skin. Your bare shoulders, too, and they traveled up your neck before thinning out naturally around your jaw.

Finishing your arc, you came to a rest in front of them again, and Papyrus idly patted his jaw to make sure it wasn’t hanging open.  _ DAMN,  _ he thought idly, with the kind of overwhelmed vagueness felt by a man who had just had his entire world upended. Apparently, he was now also into feathers.

Time to add that to the list.

It was probably natural that you didn’t know what to do on the catwalk, but you tried your best, finishing off your impromptu fashion display by flapping your arms wildly, making the milky white fabric dance. Mettaton - either because he wanted to support you, or because he was simply delighted by your form - laughed brightly and clapped, the metal of his fingers clang-clinging down the hall. Papyrus joined in, of course, letting out an appreciative hoot, and Sans knocked his heel against the floor, a lazy-man’s version of applause.

“Bravo, bravo! Good show!” Mettaton grinned, placing his hands on his hips. “You’re going to knock everyone dead.”

That seemed to distress you, and you fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve. “What? Why? I don’t want to hurt anyone…”

“It’s just a saying, darling.”

“IN FACT, I THINK EVERYONE WHO SEES YOU WOULD BE DELIGHTED!” Papyrus insisted, because  _ oh boy  _ he certainly was. 

The two looked at Sans, as if expecting him to join in, and the shorter skeleton laughed a bit. “yeah, you’ll make their hearts… soar.”

“SANS,” Papyrus wailed, tossing his arms up to the sky. “WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS!!”

“don’t act so high and mighty bro, i know you like it. after all - birds of a feather  _ flock together.” _

“I HATE YOU.”

You watched this exchange, looking this way and that as the smoke started to fade. Finally, you looked behind you, watching as another, exhausted looking monster emerged from the elaborate and expansive dressing room.

“Hey boss,” they called from behind you, gesturing at the smoke with their paw. “Can we  _ please _ turn on the fans and get this stuff out.”

Their name was Creme de la Creme, Mettaton’s premiere and profoundly overworked makeup artist, and you’d gotten to know them pretty well in the hours that they’d been preparing you for the dance. Mettaton had overseen the entire production, of course, but it was the day of a large party, of course he didn’t have the time to thoroughly do you up to his specifications - and, because of his inability to touch you due to your status as a magician fundamentally negating his technology based one...

Well, he’d needed Creme to do all the actual work.

Mettaton sighed, the metallic sound crackling through his mouth. “If you  _ must! _ Though I don’t understand what could  _ possibly  _ make you want to; it’s so picturesque!”

“It’s making it hard to clean up.” 

Their ears flicked back in annoyance, whiskers twitching a bit as their little triangle of a nose wrinkled. Creme was - in a highly unfortunate turn of fate - a cat monster, and you had gotten quite the earful about how  _ sick  _ they were of getting jokes about it, so despite their irritable demeanor, you had a significant amount of sympathy for them. “Do you want any help?”

They looked down at you, clearly a bit surprised from the way their ears perked up. “Uh,” they coughed, looking away. “No need. Your friends have been waitin’ for a while, right? Go have fun.”

Figuring that protesting would just make things stressful on them, you nodded, and then bowed in a mimicked expression of gratitude. “Thank you for your hard work. I...”

You stood back up, and Papyrus watched you smile - really, truly, absolutely smile. “I’m really happy right now.”

“Right. Uh.” Creme waved at the air, shifting their gaze between you and Mettaton, who watched this looking absolutely pleased as  _ punch.  _ “Yeah. You’re welcome - uh… do you need anything else, boss?”

“No, darling - your work here is done! Once you’ve cleaned up, I expect to see you at the party, okay?”

“Right.” Creme replied, and then returned to the room with a swish of their tail. You waved to them, expression returning to its normal flatness… but still, there was something different about you. Something more lively.

You’d offered to  _ help  _ them; you’d actually taken some interest in their life. Papyrus couldn’t help but beam as he watched it. You looked so natural right now, so… real. So  _ you,  _ in a way that seemed so completely and thoroughly lovely. That grin didn’t disappear as you approached him - heck. It probably only magnified in intensity, like the sun passing through a magnifying glass. “HOW DO YOU FEEL? NOTHING’S UNCOMFORTABLE, IS IT?”

Mettaton almost sounded offended as he chimed in, “Of course it’s not uncomfortable; it’s my design!”

Still, Papyrus waited for your reply, and you shook your head minutely. A red, feathered fascinator had been clipped to your hair, and the bits of ribbon and sloping plumage drifted a bit with the motion. “It’s fine. The stuff on my skin feels a little weird, but it’s worth it.”

Papyrus beamed, a sweet, generous expression filled with an abundance of both love and pride. You looked happy. You looked comfortable.

You looked proud of your skin, like you were just seeing it for the first time - and he knew how much that meant now. To you, to everyone. To the entire world, even - because Papyrus couldn’t help but see you as a star of hope in the vast, dark expanse of life. Not because you were some miraculous bird capable of cleansing ancient evils, no…

It was simply because you were you.

“Papyrus,” you began, and though your voice was still had that naturally stoic, unexpressive quality to it… he’d gotten used to interpreting its faint dips and rises, along with it your posture and expressions. It gave rise to a deeper picture, a more complete sense of depth - and he loved every new thing he discovered, every new gesture he saw. 

The past few days had been ones of profound joy - not in a grand, extravagant sense, but in a more peaceful one, like a bridge had been built between the two of you from the words you’d finally said. He finally felt like he  _ got it, _ that wonderful of elation he got when he finally mastered a challenging puzzle. So, even though nothing particularly special happened in that time… the days felt brighter.

It was a feeling of potential, like so many more new things were just around the corner.

“Papyrus?” You repeated and, with a jolt, he realized that you had been tugging on his sleeve. “Is something wrong?”

Well, time to turn his brain back on. “AH - NO! SORRY, I WAS JUST… THINKING ABOUT THINGS! THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS A VERY PHILOSOPHICAL MAN, YOU KNOW.”

“Ah. You were staring at me.”

“OH, UH.” The fog had thinned now, presumably due to the fan he could hear softly whirring from the studio. Mettaton had moved a few paces further down the hall, and he looked back at the pair of you, covering his amused smirk with the back of his hand. “WELL, PERHAPS YOUR AVIAN VISAGE IS HELPING TURN MY MENTAL GEARS.”

“Oh,” you said, letting out a thoughtful hum, and he could hear that cursedly cheeky robot snort.  “Well, we’re ready to go. Are you?”

Since he was desperate to get his brain back into gear and sweep this awkward situation under the rug, he let out a confident, boisterous “OF COURSE!” before - without really thinking about it - offering his arm to you.

Maybe it seemed proper for the situation, like he was just naturally falling into the role of a gentleman escorting a pretty lady to a ball, but it occurred to him in the resulting pause that, oh, uh, would you get it? Would you take it the wrong way? All eyes turned to him - Mettaton in barely restrained glee, Sans in vague amusement and you, in curiosity, staring up at him with your wide, dark eyes.

He was almost about to pull back and apologize when you took his arm, the fabric falling down your elbow as you lightly settled your fingertips on his sleeve. He stiffened slightly, perhaps in surprise or - more likely - the nervousness that came from having an image from his dreams play out before him in reality.

It was a bit embarrassing to admit, even to himself, but having you hold onto his arm really made him feel like a cool dude.

“WELL, BEAUTIFUL LADY!” Papyrus grinned from ear-to-ear, letting himself fall into the role… because it was a bit easier if it was a role. “SHALL WE GO?”

“Yes,” you said simply, forthrightly - and Mettaton laughed as he set off down the hall, arms spread out in a dramatic gesture as he lead you all onwards.

“It’s time for the stars of the show to make their grand entrance!”

You fidgeted a little with his sleeve, a little of your nervousness showing… and Papyrus patted your hand, that smile easing into something comforting. “YOU’LL DO GREAT! AND I’LL MAKE SURE NO ONE STEPS ON YOUR FEET, OKAY?”

You looked down, wiggling your still-bare toes. Creme had put black polish on your nails in lieu of shoes; how cute. “Okay. I’ll be relying on you.”

Papyrus could barely contain himself.  _ You’d be relying on him. _

 

* * *

 

You saw so many colors spread across the dance floor, the monsters before you forming a sea of shimmering cloth, fur, scales, and other strange bodily adornments. You’d thought your birthday party had been big, but this was  _ huge _ , and you found yourself intimidated by the number of people out on the dance floor and lining the buffet table. Flowers decorated the tables and were strung in elaborate arrangements along the walls, and the large, wide-framed windows let in the last glimmers of the summer sunset. Most of the lighting in the room came from ornate chandeliers adorning the ceiling, and you clung to Papyrus’ arm, thoroughly intimidated by the amount of  _ sensation _ that you were currently processing.

It didn’t help that Mettaton declared his presence with a profoundly flashy announcement of, “Hello darlings! I hope I didn’t keep you all in grueling suspense for too long~”

He was, of course, squealed over, and - since you were right behind him - you found many of the eyes in the room turning to you.

It was obvious that it’d happen, of course - wasn’t that the intent of Mettaton inviting you? You were human, and word had certainly gotten around that you were a  _ wizard. _ Obviously, there’d be interest.

“It’s alright, Crane,” Papyrus said, lowering his voice for your benefit. “Don’t be shy! You look very nice, and nobody here is scary.”

You fidgeted, your fingers tightening on his sleeve. All of this felt so new, and you felt torn between two things - that odd sensation of living someone else’s life, seeing things from someone else’s eyes, and a… an elated  _ happiness _ at finally coming just a little closer to what you wanted to be.

It was disorienting, and you couldn’t really focus on what Mettaton was saying ahead of you. All you knew is that it was loud, dramatic, and a round of applause started up from the crowd because of it. You noticed Sans looking up at you, and you thought he might be about to say something when Toriel caught your eye.

She had a glass of something pale and bubbly in her hands, and she’d been speaking with someone you didn’t recognize when you entered the room. But Mettaton’s bombastic entrance caught her attention, and she politely excused herself from her conversation partner, sweeping over to the group of you with a flowing billow of white fabric. Her dress was trimmed with gold, accentuating her already regal bearing - but her greeting to you was still warm, personal, and very affectionate. “Good evening, everyone. You all look wonderful tonight - yourself in particular, Crane.”

For some reason, it was Papyrus that seemed the most proud of her compliment, his grin spreading so big and wide that it seemed like it was going to fall off his face. “DOESN’T SHE, YOUR EXALTED QUEENLINESS? CRANE, YOU SHOULD TWIRL AGAIN! IT’S VERY FLUTTERY!”

You did so, and Toriel clapped lightly and with a genuine smile. “Oh, bravo! I would congratulate Mettaton on his work, but it seems like he’s already occupied himself.”

It was true - the crowd had parted like the sea in front of a prophet, allowing him to pass up to the very front of the ballroom, where the air seemed to have exploded into a maelstrom of flower petals that drifted down from the ceiling. There was a stage there, along with a number of musicians, and he’d taken the microphone from one of them to make his introductory statements.

Honestly, you sort of glazed over it. You knew that, unless you kept your world fairly small, you weren’t going to be able to handle all of this…  _ being different. _ Right now, you could sort of lose yourself - this must be what an actor felt like, really, putting on a costume and putting on a show, but in this case… perhaps you should consider yourself expressing your own individuality?

Even as you were stared at by numerous, curious eyes - it was alright, because you knew that the you they could see wasn’t a lie, wasn’t a fake. 

It was  _ you, _ and Papyrus was at your side, so you didn’t have to be afraid.

“You should twirl as well, your highness,” you said as you took Papyrus’ arm once more. “Your dress looks as if it is suited for it.”

The queen laughed girlishly, and then obeyed your suggestion, the fabric flowing like milk around her soft, furry legs. “It is rather fun, isn’t it? How was that?”

“Very graceful, your majesty”, you replied, not sure how to properly clap. Should you let go of his arm to do so? Would that be impolite? Which would be more proper? 

Papyrus seemed to be thinking on much the same lines, and he looked at you. After a second contemplation, he held out his hand - flat, and bent at the wrist - and, seeing what it was going for, you mimicked the motion… completing the other half of the clap.

You patted your hands together like that, the sound soft and ineffectual, but it made Toriel snort with delighted laughter. 

Sans, for once, was the only person who did things properly, and he gave the Queen of the Monsters a sly grin. “you sure look like you’re having a…  _ ball, _ tori.”

“Of course I am! That’s what happens when there are no problems to…  _ dance _ around. We can just have fun!”

“UGH,” Papyrus said, groaning loudly and flinging a hand up to the air in dismay. “CRANE, PLEASE, LET’S EVACUATE THIS SITUATION BEFORE THIS GETS ANY WORSE!!”

You peered up at him, mouth drawing into a line as you thought. You could hear Sans and Toriel giggling beside you, and it only got worse as you said, “Is that your way of asking me to dance? That’s what we’re supposed to do here, right?”

“I - ” Papyrus paused, the music rising up into a swell from the band playing on the stage. When had they started? ...Probably while you were talking earlier? It was actually a very calming sound, with pianos and violins and… surprisingly docile music for Mettaton, the master of flair. Though, you knew enough about human culture to realize this sort of music was  _ traditional  _ \- the Primus listened to it, on occasion - so…

Perhaps he was, at the moment, more focused on giving the monsters something they’d never gotten the chance to experience before, rather than something with his own distinctive flair?

“WELL, YES, I SUPPOSE YOU COULD SAY THAT. CRANE…”

Papyrus released you, and then stepped back, dipping himself into a bow before offering you a white-gloved hand. “MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE?”

“Okay,” you said, placing your hand in his. “I don’t have any idea what I’m doing, though.”

“THAT’S FINE, CRANE! I’VE WATCHED  _ LOTS _ OF MOVIES WITH DANCING IN THEM! I’M AN EXPERT BY NOW!”

“Those two really are peas in a pod, aren’t they?” Toriel commented quietly, just after she’d finished muffling a giggle beneath her paw.

Sans watched his brother go. “yeah. they’re real cute. say, how’s your dance card looking, Tori?”

Toriel gave him a warm smile, offering a hand to him. “I promised Muffet a dance later, but right now, I’m completely free. Shall we?”

Grinning, Sans took her hands, and she stooped a little so she wasn’t towering quite as extraordinarily over him… though it certainly was nothing like Papyrus’ movies. “make sure you spin me, too. i don’t want to be left out.”

“Of course, Sans. Of course.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re very tall. I don’t think I really understood how tall you were until this moment.”

Papyus laughed, looking down at you, and - even just with the small sampling of monsters in your direct vicinity - you could see that your claim was true. He towered above many of them, and - by extension - above you, which made it extremely difficult to assume the ‘proper’ dance position that Papyrus had seen in his ‘narrative-focused educational videos’. But you could still improvise, as many of Papyrus’ friends had taught you to do when he introduced them to you, and - instead of putting one hand on his shoulder - you simply kept it on his arm.

“IT IS NOT THAT I AM TALL, IT IS THAT YOU ARE ALL SO CHARMINGLY MINIATURIZED!”

You laughed a little, but it was a small sound - just two little puffs of air that escaped your lips. You’d grown a little more at ease over the course of the night - though there’d been some tense moments, particularly when a large group of monsters (all close friends) had bombarded you with question after question about everything under the sun. But you’d navigated it - with quite a lot of help from Papyrus - and the pair of you had a little time to yourselves now… in part because, without it, you were going to become too overwhelmed.

Papyrus was very considerate of you.

“I think I can, statistically, deny that, at least based on the sample size in this room.”

“OH-HOH?” Papyrus chuckled, guiding you around in a circle. Figuring out how to move without stepping on each other’s feet had been something of a… trial, but bit by bit you’d gotten the hang of it and - luckily - when it did happen, it hadn’t been Papyrus stepping on your toes, but rather the other way around. “I HAVE TO SAY, I FIND THE WORDS YOU DO AND DON’T KNOW VERY INTERESTING. WHERE DID YOU LEARN ABOUT STATISTICS?”

“The Primus,” you said simply, shifting your grip on his hand a little. There. That was a bit more comfortable. “When I first arrived in this city, I stayed with them both for a while, and sometimes I asked what he was doing.”

You paused thoughtfully before continuing. “They tried to teach me a lot of things, but I did not… absorb most of it.”

You’d been too sad, and Papyrus picked up on that fact. His smile shifted into something more comforting, and he applied a little more pressure to the small of your back, encouraging you forward so you were closer to him. “WELL, THAT’S ALRIGHT! I THINK IT’S CUTE. LEARN AT YOUR OWN PACE, OKAY?”

“Hmm.” You half turned with Papyrus, your dress swaying a little. Though you really did like the aesthetic, you had to admit, the elaborateness of your outfit would be cumbersome in any other environment. Perhaps you could get something a bit more casual that still looked similar…? Would it look good on you?

...Hmn. “Papyrus… do you often think I’m cute?”

You looked up at him innocently, and Papyrus froze, staring down at you and the mask that covered your face. That he had feelings for you had been clear for some time now, but… before now… You hadn’t really  _ internalized _ that, had you? It was a thing you knew and had worried about, but the actual ramifications of it…

It wasn’t something you’d stopped to think about. But now…

Papyrus’ face was devoured by an orange blush, but he kept his composure and answered you with his typical honestly. “ALL THE TIME! EVERY TIME I LOOK AT YOU, I’M OVERWHELMED BY HOW CUTE YOU ARE!”

“I see…” you mused, and you stepped back along with him, doing another little twirl as he raised up his hand. You really were starting to get the hang of this. “I think you’re cute, too. No - cool? ‘Cool’. Or, no. Maybe I do mean cute?”

Papyrus didn’t interrupt your little ramble, instead turning a more saturated shade of orange as you kept going. “Both, actually. I think I mean both.”

“AHAHA! AHA! WELL, OF COURSE YOU DO! I’M THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AFTER ALL, OF COURSE I AM A MASTER OF BEING BOTH  _ COOL _ AND  _ CUTE!” _

You nodded to yourself, and you were about to say something else… when you heard a few gasps from the monsters dancing next to you.

Really, you hadn’t expected to see very much when you looked over. You thought Mettaton had started preparing some other event or attraction, or maybe some other famous monster had finally arrived to the ball. After all, over the course of the night, there’d been many late-comers - which seemed to be a totally acceptable thing to do in monster society. There’d been no ill reactions, and they’d been welcomed into the party as soon as they arrived, and everything had been just fine-and-dandy. But this...

That man…that person who’d entered the grand set of double-doors, invitation in hand and a smile on his face… he was nothing like what you’d expected, because he wasn’t a monster at all.

“Crane…” Papyrus began, his voice strangely quiet as he read the atmosphere. “Did  _ you _ know Mettaton had invited another human?”

You stared at the doorway, a strange,  _ peculiar _ feeling of dread washed over you. You knew those clothes. You knew those tattoos. You knew that  _ look  _ he had about him, of strangeness, of unnaturality… of an intentional desire to set himself apart from the rest of society. That man… that  _ magus _ … you knew he wasn’t from around here. He wasn’t from this city.

He was from a place that you’d been told - at all costs - to stay away from, so… 

What was he doing at the back of the room, being greeted by Mettaton like he was an old friend?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow so september has been a garbage month for me. just terrible thing after terrible thing kept happening!! please october, my favorite month, save me!!
> 
> Well, as always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter~ So, Inktober is going on, yeah? Any of you guys participating? I'm going to try my best to, though who knows, maybe I'll be too busy... @_@


End file.
